Through Time
by Angel LeeAnn
Summary: What if Logan and Rogue had past lives? What binds them in their future? FIVE PARTS: 1340s, 1560s, 1860s, 1940s, & Present
1. PART ONE 1340s BLACK PLAGUE

Title:  Across Time 

Author: Angel LeeAnn

Rating: PG-13

Category: Romance, Angst, Drama, and Past Lives

Summary:  They were destined to love each other through time, but always torn apart by fate.  Or, in other words, what if Logan and Rogue had past lives?  

Disclaimer:  Anything X-men related belongs entirely to me!  I'm running away with them!  ****_sigh_Ok, ok, they're not mine.  They belong to Marvel.

**AUTHOR'S NOTES**:  Any resemblance to another story is purely coincidental.  **Also**, there are symbolisms throughout the story.  So, if you make a connection between the past and the present then, you're probably correct in your assumptions.  **And remember**, these are past lives so just because I may write a character a certain way _doesn't_ mean I think that's the way they act in the movie-verse.

**~ ~ ~ PART ONE: 1347 ~ ~ ~**

Marian = Marie

Lord Le Châtelier = Logan

In order of appearance:

Mary = Ororo

Lady Jane = Jean

Orth = Bobby

Henry = Scott

Lord vom Metall = Eric

CHAPTER ONE

As she scurried through the village – mud encrusting her black boots and spraying her dull red dress – Marian tried ignoring the lustful stares and jeers of the unruly men perched outside their huts drinking rum.  Marian clutched the parcel in her slender, calloused hands and held it tightly against her chest, fearing someone would snatch it.  She'd had things stolen from her before: precious possessions that could never be replaced.  Yet, it was most painful to remember the wheat fields on the outskirts of town, so she locked away the memory with all the other nightmares of her past.

She came to a vast field and ran across it; too pressed on time in order to savor the brilliant display of wildflowers.  When she reached the lavish orchids, she had to slow and take deep breaths, calming her racing heart before hastily making her way passed the gardens and up the cobblestone walkway leading to the back door of the castle.  She burst inside, her nose instantly assaulted with the sweet aroma of Mary's apple pies.

"Blessed Lord, child," the salt-and-peppered haired cook exclaimed.  "Look at yerself!  Ye better wash up before Lady Jane sees ye."

"Tis her fault," Marian defended, prying off her shoes and sitting them by the fire pit.  "She sent me – not an hour before Lord Le Châtelier's arrival – to the market to purchase a brooch: a bloody brooch, Mary!  Does she not have more than enough ornaments?  The woman is vain and…"

"Bite ye tongue, child," Mary scolded.  "Lady Jane has treated us well and saved us from becoming the guards' pleasantries.  Ye'd've been forced to lie with a man by now if it weren't for Lady Jane."  The aging woman turned her back on the girl, continuing to prepare supper.  She missed the ashen look befall Marian's face.

_How little you know_, Marian thought, slipping out of the kitchen.  She snuck up to her tiny servant's quarters in the attic.  After changing, she hurried to the master bedroom and knocked politely.  "Lady Jane, ma'am, tis Marian."

The soft sound of rustling cloth was followed by the gentle swinging of the door as it opened.  The raven curls of the Lady's hair were piled intricately a top her head adorned with strings of sterling silver chains.  Jane wore a violet silk dress that heightened her bosom and protruded her stomach.  She smelled of the finest perfume imported from India; and a blanket of powder covered her usually tan complexion.  Her lips were ruby red, begging for the attention of a wealthy suitor.

All in all, she was a woman of the latest fashion.

"Thank you, Marian," Jane spoke elegantly, taking the pearl brooch from her.  "Lord Le Châtelier shall be here any moment.  When his Lordship arrives, tend to him in his guest chambers."

Marian bowed her head.  "Yes, m'Lady."

She made a swift escape from the room and fled back down the narrow space of the tower's long, winding staircase, her shoes echoing against the stone.  One of the guards met her along the way, frantic and out of breath.

"He is here," he wheezed.  "The Henry, the stable master, is tying up his horse as we speak."

Marian suppressed a groan and raced down the steps behind the guard.  "How did he seem, Orth?"

"Well and courteous, my fair maiden."

It was a quiet joke between the guard and the chamber maiden.  For only Marian knew the truth.  Orth often bragged about taking women into his bed, but it was untrue.  He had only bedded one woman: a whore from Asia who had visited their village.  Since then, he had refrained from having intercourse for he had discovered that he found the feminine sex repulsive.  He preferred masculinity: men.

"Enough toying, Orth.  We do not have time for games."

Marian made her way to the foyer where the Lord was waiting patiently beside a collection of his traveling men.  Marian bowed.  "Welcome, Lord Le Châtelier.  Lady Jane has requested I take you to your quarters."

He returned her greeting with a soft smile, his haunting amberish-hazel eyes gazing warmly at her instead of straight through her.  It wasn't uncommon for the wealthy to not notice her so it shocked her when his intense orbs of chocolate swirled with golden emeralds locked with her forest greens.  "I…," she glanced away, suddenly feeling faint.  "I shall show you to your chambers, Lord Le Châtelier."

He gave a slight, courteous nod, opting to remain silent as he followed her.

Marian stepped into a sparsely decorated room and gestured towards the canopy.  "The sheets are washed once a week, my Lord.  Every Saturday so that they are fresh cometh the Sabbath."  She shuffled over to the far corner where a large tub sat.  "Water will be boiled for baths every Sunday morning.  However, you may bathe daily with cold water from the well."

He listened intently as she went about explaining the rest of the household's routines.  When she had finished, he beaconed her to him.  "Your name, maiden?"

"Marian, your Lordship.  I shall be your servant during your stay."

"Mmm."  He glanced around the stoned walls, admiring the fine tapestries.  He settled his focus back on her and nodded.  "Marian, I am weary from my long journey.  Will you excuse me so that I may retire for an hour or so?"

Marian was floored by his politeness.  She had become so accustomed to being pushed around and treated like dirt on the bottom of Lords' boots that she was unsure of the proper response.  "Um…my Lord, Lady Jane was desiring to meet you right away.  I…" she peered down at her worn shoes and murmured: "I shall leave you in peace, my Lord.  But Lady Jane may ask me to bring you down for supper."

He nodded again, grunting another 'mmm'.  "Never mind, then.  I would not want to see punishment befall you.  I shall be ready whenever Lady Jane wishes to dine.  Until then, would you excuse me?"

Marian lowered her head.  "Yes, my Lord.  When shall I return?"

"When Lady Jane wants me fetched."

A hidden tone of amusement in his voice caused Marian to hesitate.  Did he find being summoned by a Lady like a dog being called to his master?

Her interest in the Lord increasing, Marian made her leave.

END CHAPTER ONE

Well?  I've never done past lives before.  What do you think?


	2. Flares of Desire

**Author's Note**:  Please keep in mind the time period.  Certain things we would consider odd were common back then.

-*-*-*-*-

Chapter Two

By the time night had befallen the land, Marian was exhausted.  She wearily led the Lord back to his chambers, anxious to get him off to bed so that she could slip off into her own.  Yet, upon reaching his quarters, he raised his eyebrows towards the corner of the room where the chipped tub stood.  "I had a long journey."

Marian resisted the urge to roll her eyes (surely that would get her fifteen lashings).  

_So much for sleep_, she thought begrudgingly.  

She smiled tightly at him.  "Of course, my Lord.  I shall have someone fetch some water.  Excuse me, my Lord."  She bowed, heading backward toward the door.

"Wait, Marian," he exclaimed, holding out his hand.  "Doesn't the bell work?"  He nodded at the servant's bell near the bathtub.

Marian clenched her teeth.  "Yes, my Lord, but I must go down and help carry the buckets.  That is, if it pleases you, my Lord."

He nodded and watched her leave.  There was something about the young woman that gleamed defiance.  She wasn't like any other maiden he had come across in his journeys.  She was strong willed, confident, and there was a hidden intelligence dancing just beyond her eyes.  The Lord couldn't help but wonder if she had always been a lowly servant or if the trials of life had put her there.

Moments later, Marian reentered the room, carrying a large, wooden bucket of water.  A trail of women followed her; each gripping the iron handles of other buckets.  They dumped the cold water into the tub and then filed out without so much as a look in his direction.  Marian unscrewed a glass bottle, pouring a fair amount of the perfume into the tub and then straightened and peered down at her feet.

Simultaneously, they glanced up at each other nervously before averting their attentions to the tub: the awkwardness creeping in to settle upon the drafty room.  The Lord shifted his weight, clearing his throat.  "I confess I am only accustomed to my manservant bathing me," he admitted good-naturally, easing the tension.  "One would assume from his hands he were a woman.  So I suppose there shall not be much difference."

Marian held back a chuckle, a smile struggling to escape.  "And why, Lord Le Châtelier, did he not accompany you?"

"He had grown ill."  The Lord bowed his head in reverence.  "He died of the Black Death."

Marian gasped.  She had heard murmurings about the mysterious illness that ravished Asia, Italy, and Spain.  Last week while in town, she caught whisperings from the traveling merchants about its lethal black dots under the skin and feverish delusions.  "My Lord, has it truly reached France?"

Le Châtelier nodded solemnly.  "_Oui_."

Marian lowered her head.  "My Lord, I know tis not a servant's business, but…between the Black Death and the war…why do you court Lady Jane?"

"You are right.  You are stepping out of your place.  Yet, even a simple mind should be capable of piecing it together.  Our countries are at war, Marian, amidst an ill world.  Why do the English and French rage on in this epic battle when our strengths should be reserved to fight against the disease killing our people?  If I were to wed your Lady…well…"

"It may bridge a gap," she finished softly.

The Lord straightened.  "I wish to get bathed and into bed at a decent hour, Marian."

Marian cautiously stepped closer, helping him remove his clothing.  Quietly they undressed him and Le Châtelier stepped into the ceramic tub, easing his well-toned body into the frigid water.  Marian, her cheeks flaming, retrieved a sponge and dipped it into the water.  She caressed the dripping sponge across his back.  He hissed as the freezing droplets slid down the curve of his spine.

"Is your water always this cold?"

"Sorry, my Lord."

"Not your fault."

Marian, awed once more be his benevolence, gently ran the sponge over his shoulders and along his chest.  For years the sight of men's flesh had sickened her, but now, scraping across the hard muscles of his body, Marian felt an unfamiliar stirring in the pit of her stomach.  She hesitantly submerged her hand, stroking his thighs, her knuckles grazing over his sensitive skin.  She was curious, but not daring enough to reach up and touch him.

Le Châtelier inquisitively narrowed his eyes.  She looked as though she were torn in an internal battle.  Was she even aware of the effects she was having on him?  Was she teasing him?  Tempting him?  He growled when the sponge escaped her hold and her palm rubbed down his inner thigh.

Marian gasped and flung back, water splashing onto the floor.  "I am sorry, my Lord!  I am so sorry!  I promise you it was an accident!  The sponge slipped out of my hand!  Please, I beg of you!"

He laughed at her frantic pleas.  "Settle down, girl.  Everything is well.  Fetch my robe and nightgown." 

Marian leapt to her feet and rushed to bid his orders.  Why had her hands turned to butter?  Why were this man's warm smile, soulful eyes, and kind words making her dizzy?  She had sworn to herself that she would never lust after a man.  How could she after what the German Lord had done to her?  And yet…it was happening.  She desired the French Lord who was now crawling backward out of the tub (trying to avoid giving her an eyeful of his assets), shivering from the frigid night air as he slipped on his robe.

And then he turned around and she saw the same questions dancing in his eyes.

Marian's breath caught and she swallowed, watching with wide eyes as he slowly approached her.  "My…my Lord…is there…something you…"

He gazed down at her, desire burning in his amberish-hazel eyes.  "No.  Now go rest, girl.  I plan to be up early tomorrow."

"Y-yes, my Lord."  She darted from the room, slamming the heavy wooden door shut behind her.  She raced down the hallway, her heart hammering against her chest.

He could have taken her then…forced her onto the bed and done what he pleased with her.  No one would have cared.  No one would have saved her.  Yet, he had sent her away.  He had not forced himself upon her like many had tried to do in the past.  And his gallantry only made her fondness for him grow. 

End Chapter Two

**Nikki**:  I never even thought of it that why, but you're absolutely right: Jean does always seem to get whatever she wants.  Thanks for the review!  **Paprika**:  Thank you for the vote in the confidence.  And, of course, thanks for the review!  **Blix**:  It won't be all peaches and roses, but the ending (Part Four) will be bittersweet.  **Lisa**:  Thanks!  **Viviane**:  Different is good, right?  Lol.  **Quaz**:  Thanks for the tip.  _insert smile_ I'm usually pretty good at updating, but I'm extremely busy these next two months so postings may come weeks apart.  Sorry.   **Wapps**:  That's a relief to hear.  I was aiming for originality.  Thanks, as always, for the compliments and review.  **Christina**:  Thank you so much.  **Tiger**:  Cute?  Thanks!  I'm glad you think so.  **Phoenix**:  Really?  Wow.  I find them frequently.  However, I usually stumble across some rather silly ones.  Yet, RoLo is RoLo, right?  **Cassandra**:  I'm writing!  I'm writing!  **Antz**:  No, thank _you_.  **KarenH**:  Thanks!  **Carmilla**:  Oops!  Sorry, I never took any Germany.  Will changing it to "Lord Eisenach" work?  **Sapphire**:  It breaks my heart every Sunday at 9:00EST.  _sigh_ If only that second movie would hurry up and come out!


	3. Trust

Chapter Three

As the morning birds rose to sing, Marian trudged behind Lady Jane and Lord Le Châtelier to the stables.  The maiden fought back a yawn, ignoring the peculiar gazes of the Lord's traveling knights.  Marian had been up most of the rainy night tossing and turning on her tiny cot stuffed with hay, listening as the wind howled and the lightening screamed.  Sleep eluded her not because of the storm, but for she was plagued with the images of Le Châtelier.

Fatigued and unfocused, Marian had to quickly sidestep a horse's barrel and ended up colliding into the Lord's back.  She instantly panicked and scurried back, stumbling in the mud and collapsing.  Sprawled out on the wet ground, she cowered away, terrified and embarrassed.  "I am so sorry, my Lord!  Please, my Lord, take pity!  It was an accident!"

"What is the matter with you," Lady Jane snapped, mortified at her servant's display in front of her suitor.

Le Châtelier chuckled, gesturing to one of his men to help the trembling woman up.  He would have done so himself, but he was trapped by suitability.  It was undignified for a Lord to aid a servant, especially with Lady Jane breathing down his neck.  "All is well, girl.  I suggest in the future you cure that clumsy streak of yours," he teased, referring to last night's bath.

When he gave her a hidden wink, Marian's mouth fell open.  She glanced around, relieved no one else had noticed.

"Shut your mouth," Lady Jane ordered.  She then turned to the handsome man beside her.  "You really are too laissez-faire, my Lord.  I am sorry you are being troubled with my unfortunately gauche servant."

"Nonsense, my Lady.  I have been dealt worse."

The party moved on, entering the stables where the stable master was waiting with the horses.  Henry held the reigns to both the Lady's and the Lord's stallions.  "Good day, my Lady and Lord," he greeted, bowing courteously before the nobility.

Marian held back a knowing smile.  Henry had been fancying after Lady Jane for the last five years, but the woman pretended to be cold and aloof, not wanting to feed into Henry's whimsy.  Marian had always found Henry's affections to be foolish.  Why bother giving your heart to someone who would never offer you his or hers?  Yet, slowly, Marian was beginning to understand that you could not choose whom your heart desired.

She looked toward the Lord, watching as he eased his muscular body onto his black horse.  _What is wrong with imagining that I am the one he is straddling_?

Marian gasped, clamping her hand over her mouth.  How could she even think such vulgar thoughts!  If Mary knew, she would claim that the darkness was consuming her.  Marian usually scoffed at the cook's ranting and ravings of demonic possession, but Marian wondered if she should take heed.

From high on his steed, Le Châtelier eyed Marian strangely.  "Are you ill, girl?"

Marian's head snapped up.  "N-no, my Lord."

Lady Jane looked puzzled as she stared down at her servant.  "Marian, what is the fuss?"

"Nothing, my Lady."

The sound of violent coughing caused everyone to peer behind them.  Orth came stumbling into the stable, his skin ashen and moist with sweat.  "My Lady, I fear that," he was interrupted by another coughing attack.

"Sir Orth, you sound dreadful," Henry pointed out, worried.

Orth shook his head.  "Do not waste your concern on me, Henry.  As I was saying: Lady, I fear that you will not be able to ride today."

"What," she challenged.  "And why is that, Orth?"

"Your father has sent a carriage for you and directions that you shall leave at once for home.  Your mother and sisters have fallen very ill."

Lady Jane gasped, climbing off her horse.  "Oh dear…what do the physicians say?"

"They will not live much longer, Lady Jane."

The Lady glanced back at the Lord, tears stinging her eyes.  "I am sorry, my Lord.  I must go to my father's home.  Please, wait for my return."  And then she fled from the stables, racing towards the waiting carriage.

Le Châtelier bowed his head, murmuring a prayer.  When he looked up, the Lady and the carriage were rushing through the gates.  He then peered down at Marian with a tight, somber smile.  "I do not suppose you know how to ride."

Marian was taken aback, speechless.

"I feel pity for Lady Jane, but there is nothing I can do for her except wait for her return as she requested.  Until then, I wish to go for a ride."

Marian glanced between him and his guards.  "Would you not prefer one of them to accompany you, my Lord?"

"I do not need protection, Marian.  I need a riding partner."

Marian gulped and looked over towards Henry.  He gave her a small nod of encouragement.

"My Lord," she said.  "I do not have a horse to ride.  Surely you do not expect me to take Lady Jane's?  That would be close to sacrilege!"

"I suppose so," he replied as though considering something.  "I guess the only other option is for you to ride on mine."

"Then what would you ride, my Lord?"

"Mine."

"But if I am on yours then, how could you…oh."  She bit her lower lip.  Did she dare ride on the same horse as a nobleman?  How could he even ask her to?

"Come, Marian, I am growing impatient.  I promise we will go no further than the wheat fields."

Marian hesitantly approached.  The Lord offered his hand and she timidly took it, allowing him to hoist her up.  She wrapped her arms around his chest, clasping her hands together.  She felt the panic swelling up inside her.  The last time she had gone to the wheat fields with a man, she had been not yet fifteen and the German Lord had been too strong.

Le Châtelier kicked the horse's sides with his boots and they tore off.  The wind combed through her hair and within minutes, Marian was relaxed.  She settled her head against the Lord's back, inhaling his masculine scent.  She did not know why he was so persistent to ride with her and for the time being she did not care.

When they reached the edge of the wheat fields, the Lord dismounted from the horse and took the reigns, guiding the graceful animal leisurely up the trail.  "Do you read, Marian?"

"No, my Lord."

"I think you are lying to me."

Marian lowered her head.  "I am not allowed to read, my Lord."

"Yes, but do you know how?"

"Yes," she murmured.  "A man taught me years ago."

"Orth?  Henry?  The two men seem to be quite fond of you."

"No, not them, my Lord."

"You care to enlighten me, Marian?"

"I wish not to speak of it, my Lord."

"Very well."

They went on silently for another mile before Le Châtelier veered the horse off the path and headed back for the castle.

"My Lord, may I…may I inquire of something?"

"You may."

"Why are you so kind towards me?"

"Is it wrong to treat all women as though they were one?  Why is it when I am kind to a noblewoman it is being chivalrous, but when kind to a servant it is being degrading?"

"Is that a double-sword question, my Lord?"

"No, no…I am not trying to entrap you.  It is an honest question.  Besides, my real title is not Lord.  I inherited it from my great-aunt's cousin's nephew.  You see, this nephew and I were the only male heirs and when he was killed in war, the title jumped all the women between us and landed on me.  Unbeknownst to most, I was nothing more than a sailor nine years ago.  I was a traveler, drifting from ship to ship.  I am not even sure to this day how they found me after his death."

 "Why do you entrust me with this knowledge, my Lord?"

"Please, call me Corbin."

Marian smiled.  "I think that unwise, my Lord."

"Do not be silly.  I call you Marian when we are alone.  And I wish for you to call me Corbin when alone."

"As you wish, my Lor-Corbin."

"Just say it, Marian.  I promise you, my name does not bite."

She rolled her eyes and said: "Corbin."

"See?  Was that so hard, Marian?"

By now they were back at the stables and Marian climbed off the horse.  "Tis Sunday, my Lord."

"What of it?"

"Nothing," she answered.  "Just let me know when you are ready for your warm bath."

He gawked at her, stunned by her coyness.  And then he smiled.  "Will do, Marian."

End Chapter Three

**Nikki**:  Take note, however, that in each lifetime, Logan grows more and more gruff.  So, I hope you aren't _too_ attached to his sweeter personality.  **Viviane**:  I'm glad to hear it!

**Blix**:  It was too tempting to let go.  And Logan can be a pretty rough guy, but I don't think in any lifetime he would be a brute.  Or, at least, I would let him be one. _laughs_  **Jo**:  I'm glad I've inspired you.  And don't give me so much credit.  I'm sure you'll story will be awesome.  **KK**:  Just so you know, I whipped this up as fast as I could because I wanted to get it out ASAP for you. _smiles_


	4. Vow of Safety

**A/N**:  Sorry this is late.  If you're curious then, read my notes on my author's page.  Thank you.

** WARNING **:  This chapter is rated for brief, mild sexuality.

Chapter Four

Marian crept into the Lord's chambers like a shadow.  She felt nervous, but giddiness still swam through her blood.  Corbin Le Châtelier sat on the edge of his mattress, facing away from her.  He had his head bowed, as though in prayer, but since he wasn't on his knees she knew he had to be up to something else.  Not wanting to disturb him, she quietly floated across the room and began the preparations for his warm Sabbath bath (the water had been delivered before her arrival).

"Marian," his rich voice murmured from directly behind her.

Startled, she jerked, accidentally dumping a large amount of perfume into the water.  Swallowing hard, she whirled around to find him standing merely inches away.  She could feel the heat of his body caressing every sensitive nerve of hers.  "Y-yes, my Lord?"

His enchanting eyes gazed into hers, searching.  Finally he broke his hold and nodded towards the tub.  "Time to bathe."  He twirled his finger to indicate for her to turn around.  When her back was to him, he removed his robe and slid into the soapy, warm water.  "Not as heated as I expected, but at least I will not freeze to the metal this time."

Marian fought back a smile as she dipped her hand beneath the suds with the sponge.

He stared straight ahead as she roamed across his broad shoulders.  Clearing his throat when she worked her way down his chest, he inquired: "When are services?"

Marian noticed the slight crack in his voice, but tried to ignore it.  "At noon, my Lord."

"Who all attends?"

"Normally only Lady Jane and her ladies-in-waiting, my Lord."

"You have never gone to mass, Marian?"

"Once or twice."

"Mmm, I see."

"Will you be going today, my Lord?"

"I see no need."

"Not even to pray for the souls of Lady Jane's kin?"

Corbin glanced sharply at her, obviously bitter about her queries.  "I feel it no business of yours."

Marian lowered her head and murmured: "I am sorry, my Lord."

He sighed, almost a growl escaping his lips.  "Keep it from your mind.  It does not matter."

They both fell silent.  Marian continued to stroke the sponge along his flesh, the water trickling down his hard muscles like teardrops.  She hesitated before going further, rubbing the sponge along his inner thighs.

Corbin suppressed a moan, yearning for the delicate touch of her hand.  He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back the urge to grab her and yank her into the tub on top of him.  Just the thought of it caused him a low, rumbling hiss of pleasure.

Marian's breath quickened and she released the sponge.  She traced her fingers along his inner thigh, intrigued by the effect she was having on him.  And then he opened his eyes and they peered into each other's desire before his mouth came crashing down on hers, assaulting her lips ravenously.  She felt him begin to pull her into the tub and she suddenly panicked, shoving him away and stumbling back onto her behind.

Terrified, panged eyes stared up at him and Corbin felt a knife twist in his heart.  "Marian," he whispered.  He held up his hands as though to calm her and then eased himself out of the tub.

At the sight of him, Marian's eyes widened in horror and she scurried further away.

Corbin quickly snatched his robe and pulled it on, covering up his apparent arousal.  He then cautiously approached the frightened girl on the floor.  "Tis all right, Marian.  I will not hurt you."  He crouched down beside her and placed a hand tenderly on top of hers.

She jerked her hand away.  "Please," her voice quivered.  "Please, do not touch me.  I beg of you, sir."

"I promise you, Marian, I will do nothing."

"You…you will not force me to lie with you," she asked softly, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Never," he vowed sternly.  "I swear it to you, Marian."

Marian began to sob, her tears ripping at his soul.  He gently wrapped his arms around her, sealing her delicate body in a soothing embrace.  "No one shall touch you without consent again, Marian.  I will not allow it."  He placed a chaste kiss on the top of her head.  "I will take care of you."

"You promise?"

"Forever."

End Chapter Four

**Gimpy**: Chp2:  I'm glad you like the black death/politics mixture because all four parts will have such things.  Chp3:  Glad you like Corbin's history.  I figured that would help people make sense of his kindness.  Thanks for reviewing!  As you know, I love your story, _Three Degrees of Separation_.  I'm waiting breathlessly for Chapter 11.     **Draco**:  Thanks for the review.  Sorry for the long wait.     **Kris**:  You mind if I call you that?  It's how you signed your review.  Anyway, I've been hovering over the idea of making Jane/Jean ill, but I'm thinking I may go another way.  I'm not sure yet.  Mmm…     **Blix**:  Ah, what would I ever do without your amusing reviews?  Haha.     **Cassandra**:  Thanks!  How are things going?     **Peacechild**:  Thanks for the review!  I apologize you had to wait so long.     **Sapphireblue**:  Thanks for the boost in confidence.  And, no, I've never seen _Paperback Hero_.  What's it about?     **Blue**:  At the time you wrote this review, it was still snowing where I live in the USA, but now it's sunny!  Yippie!


	5. Until Death Do Us Part

**Author's Notes**: 1.) I had been informed that my German was off on the Lord's name. So, it has been changed to Lord Eisenach. 2.) Sorry for the long delay. Life got in the way.

Chapter Five

Marian, feeling slightly lightheaded, quietly shuffled through the castle's corridors. Lady Jane had yet to return from her father's home and the servants were beginning to get anxious. Henry, belittled with concern for his secret beloved, was often found staring off down the dirt road, waiting in trepidation for the Lady's carriage to ride up.

Marian spotted one of the friendlier knights rounding a corner and called out to him. "Arthur!"

Arthur turned around, looking peeved and irritable. "What is it, woman?"

"I have not seen Orth today. Is he well?"

"I say not. He has grown worse. Now be gone from my sight, woman."

Marian bit her tongue and kept her eyes from narrowing into a glare. She simply bowed her head and scurried away. Once out of sight of the knight, she broke out into a sprint. Half way up the winding stairs, she collided into Mary. The water bowl she had been carrying crashed to the floor, shattering into pieces. "I am sorry, Mary. I had not seen you."

"I shall think not," Mary muttered. The cook bent down, picking up the ceramic pieces. "Where ye off to in such a hurry, Marian?"

"I want to see Orth," Marian confessed, scooping down to help clean up the mess. "I hear he is still not well."

Mary shook her head sadly. "I am afraid ye can not see him, Marian."

"Why?"

Mary sighed and used the back of her hand to stroke Marian's cheek. "My child, I fear that the Black Death has found its way to our door."

"What," Marian gasped. "No…that can not be!"

"Tis true, Marian. Orth has been sent away."

"Where?"

"To a place that he may die and then be burned."

Marian's chest constricted and she backed away down the steps, shaking her head slowly. "No," she whispered. Her eyes darted every which way, unable to make sense of the world. Tears filled her eyes and she whirled around, racing down the stairs in a feeble attempt to escape the truth.

Orth had been her dearest friend since the night he had found her curled up in the field, sobbing in the rain. He had held her gently, rocking her soothingly as she wept into his chest. Without a word spoken between them, Orth had known what Lord Eisenach had taken from her. He could tell from her tattered cloths and the bloodstain on her skirt.

Orth had carried her to the stables, gingerly laying her down on a pile of warm hay. Henry had been there and the two men cared for Marian the best they could. Neither of them ever questioned her.

And now Orth was at his death. Dying of the terrible plague that was tearing Europe apart.

She found herself at Lord Le Châtelier's chambers. She was stunned to see two knights guarding his door. She eyed them peculiarly. "Is the Lord well?"

One of the guards stared at her coolly. The other ignored her completely.

Marian grinded her teeth, taking a deep, cleansing breath before asking more demandingly: "What is the meaning of this?"

"You dare raise your voice to us, woman," the first guard questioned angrily.

Marian huffed. "I am Lord Le Châtelier's personal servant during his stay. I wish to see him. I must oversee his requests."

"What is your name, woman?"

"Marian."

The two guards exchanged glances and then the first guard inquired: "Have you been well?"

"Fine," Marian replied. "I have not been ill."

The second guard opened the door, allowing her to enter. Marian stepped between the large men and into the Lord's quarters. When the door was closed, Marian rushed over to the Lord who was sitting in a wooden chair by the fireplace. "My Lord," she hastened. "They have taken Orth away!"

The Lord nodded solemnly. "Aye, Marian. I know. Surely he has passed on by now." He gazed up into the young woman's sorrowful face and sighed. "I am sorry, Marian. I know he was a friend of yours."

"I miss him already," she admitted quietly.

Corbin stood up, taking her hand in his and guiding her to the large bed. He sat them both down, securing an arm around her shoulders. "Things will be all right," he lied, knowing full well that this was only the start. He had seen what the Plague had done to his own country. England would not be spared from her terrible fate.

Marian buried her face into his shoulder, feeling dizzy and flushed from her emotional turmoil.

Corbin stiffened as he felt her forehead graze his neck. He slowly drew back, cupping her face in his hands. Her skin was hot to the touch. "Marian, you are feverish. How long have you felt ill?"

"Not at all, my Lord." Marian shook her head. "I have just been feeling a bit uneasy since this morning and had the breath of a headache."

Corbin's eyes widened. "Oh, Marian, why did you not say something?"

Marian felt a chill sweep through her body at the fear in his eyes. "What troubles you, Corbin?"

"Marian, my dear," he murmured, embracing her, placing a kiss to her forehead.

Marian shuttered, feeling as a though a draft blew through her veins. Something was wrong. She could feel it. "Corbin," she asked, frightened. "What is happening?"

He held her tighter. "Shh, Marian, I will not leave your side."

Marian began to sob, her tears trickling down his throat, wetting his shirt. "I am dying," she spoke softly, realizing the reality. "What will happen to me?"

Corbin rocked her, stroking her hair. "You do not wish to know."

"I do, Corbin. I do. I want to be prepared for my fate."

Corbin wished to spare her from the agony, but knew that there was nothing he could do except give her the answers she sought. "You have been struck down with the headaches, fever, and chills. Soon you will be cursed with vomiting, back pains, and soreness in the arms and legs. Light will burn your eyes. Within a day or two you will see the lumps. They will…they will," he choked. _Good God, why is this happening to her_?

Marian pushed her self away from him. "I will kill you! You must send me away. Send me away like you did Orth!"

Corbin snatched her arm, pulling her to him. "No, Marian. No. I will not leave you to suffer this alone. If I die, too, then so be it."

"No, Corbin. Please," she cried. "I do not wish to have your blood on my hands."

"Then I will have them on mine. I choose to stay. I place my blood on my own hands."

"Why," she pleaded. "Why die with me?"

"For the same reason you would die with me."

End Chapter Five

**Gimpy**: I'm glad you noticed that because his promises in this lifetime are what bind them throughout time. You'll see what I mean in later chapters (though I'm sure you've figured it out).

**Blix**: I've checked around, but I guess Paperback Hero isn't known in the States. Are you from the States or somewhere else? I'm only wondering because I'm thinking that maybe you can't rent Paperback Hero in the States, which would suck because I want to see it.

**Draco**: Sorry for the wait. I've been extremely busy.

**Nikki**: Uh-oh. You said you were glad they were "friends". Does that mean you're against Logan and Rogue having a relationship?

**Loki**: Hey, I never even thought of it that way, but I guess the Asian Orth slept with could've been Jubilee's past self. See? There are more symbolisms in the story than I even thought. Lol. Anyway, thank you tremendously for all the kind words.

**Joojoo**: Sorry, I meant to be quicker, but life got in the way. Thanks for the review!


	6. The Cursed Oath

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**: Considering that I only have less than 3 months to finish 6 stories, I'm going to wrap up the stories getting less reviews and focus on the ones the majority of people seem to like. Thanks!

Chapter Six

Rain pattering the castle's walls, thunder rumbled across the night sky. Corbin, vigil at Marian's deathbed, listened to the storm raging throughout the desolate land. Reports of the Plague were mounting and the evidence was in the sound of wailing victims spreading among the streets of the villages. From his perch in his chambers, sometimes he could hear the howls of the tormented. It haunted his ears, knowing that he would soon be scarred by the same anguished cries from Marian.

The woman in his bed moaned, tossing and turning in a feeble attempt to escape her feverish nightmares. Corbin dipped the washcloth into the basin on the side table. The cloth, soaked with the ice cold water, he draped over Marian's forehead. "Oh, Marian, I wish I could slay this demoniac Plague from your body."

She began to tremble, whimpering as she was over taken once more by vicious seizures. Sweat glistened on her pale skin. The reddened blotches covering her body grew more pronounced. Corbin knew they would eventually turn as dark as the bottomless pits of Hell. And if she were lucky, she would die within hours.

Panged by her suffering – and the suffering to come – Corbin begged for the mercy of Death. "Take her now," he pleaded quietly. "Spare her from further pain."

Marian's seizure finally subsided. Her breathing was raspy and shallow. "Cor-bin," she murmured through bleeding lips. "Cor-bin…please." Tears fell from her eyes; each salty teardrop a testament to her agony.

He knew what she wanted him to do, but he could not find the courage to grant her wish. He could not run his sword through her heart; or place a satin pillow over her face. He could not kill her. Instead, he turned away, soaking another rag in the basin.

"Cor-bin," her choked cry stung his heart. "Cor…bin. Plea-ese."

He kept silent as he continued to nurse her, gingerly placing the cloth over her neck, but inside his soul was screaming. He had promised to protect her forever and now all he could do was watch her die.

Over the course of the next hour, Marian drifted in and out of consciousness. Whenever the pain tore her from her restless sleep, she would repeat her sorrowful request: "Corbin…please."

He ignored her.

Another hour slipped by before Marian's shrieks pierced him. He crawled into the bed, fumbling to hold her. He smoothed back her hair. Kissed her temple. Muttered empty words of comfort into her ear.

"No," Marian screeched. "_Noooo_!"

"What, my darling, what? Tell me what I can do to ease your…"

She was suddenly vomiting violently. The acid burning her throat and mouth. Corbin held back her hair, not caring that she was throwing up on his shirt and trousers. "Oh, Marian. If I could trade places with you I would do it in a heartbeat."

He glanced down, gasping at the ugly sight of charcoaled lumps disappearing down her back. He gently touched his fingertips to one and Marian screamed. He quickly recoiled and tentatively laid her back on the pile of pillows.

"Please," Marian sobbed, her arms quivering. "Please…end this! Please!"

He noticed that the discoloration on her face had begun to turn black. He softly caressed her face. "Marian," he whispered, tears blurring his vision. "I swear to God, on the stone of your grave, I will live the rest of my days in despair."

Marian shook her head, to weary to protest. But her eyes pleaded for him to stop.

"And for my sin," he reached down and retrieved the dagger from the pouch around his ankle, "shall I never lover another. But always live with the guilt of your death." He leaned forward, tenderly kissing her chapped lips. "If we're granted another life, I shall save you with mine own."

Marian locked her eyes with his. She wanted to tell him so many things, but she could not speak. She could not tell him that it was his kindness – not his looks or wealth or title – that won her heart. She could not tell him her secrets or her fears. She could not tell him that she wished for a second life – one that would allow them to be together. But most importantly, she wanted to set him free.

Marian, with a wave of strength brought on by desperation, clasped her hand around his hand that held the dagger.

She nodded.

Corbin plunged the dagger into her heart.

End Chapter Six **End PART ONE: 1347 **

**PART TWO: 1560 **Coming Soon!

**HISTORY**: There are three different types of the Plague: Pneumonic, Bubonic (most common during the Black Death), and Septicemic. Orth died from the Pneumonic form, which resulted in severe coughing, spitting up blood, and difficulty breathing. Marian died from the Bubonic, which symptoms I described in the story.

**Loki**: No, no, no, you weren't looking too deeply. I'm glad you saw a connection even if I didn't. And as the time periods move ahead there will be more and more symbolisms. Anyway, thanks for the compliments! I enjoy writing this story so I'm glad at least a few of you enjoy reading it.

**Roguechere**: Don't worry: we'll see Rogue again in the 1500s, which is coming up in the next chapter. Yippie! And, sorry, I honestly didn't mean to put anyone on the verge of tears.

**Enchantedlight**: Thank you so much! I appreciate the review.

**Karin**: Phew! Glad to hear that it's original. I was a little worried that maybe someone had already taken a stab at it. And I'm glad you're enjoying it even if it is a little unorthodox compared to the other stories.

**Blix**: I don't know if I have an all region DVD or not. Maybe my computer is able to switch regions, too. What did you think of the movie? Is it worth buying from Australia?

**Cassandra**: Sorry, she died. Yet, she'll be back in Part Two. Feel better? Anyway, have you figured it out? I mean with trying to post your stories?

**Nikki**: _pats your shoulder_ It'll be ok. Like I've told a couple of the others, Rogue will return next chapter.

**Sparkling-Diva**: Sorry, didn't mean to make anyone cry. Anyway, thank you so much for the compliments. Marie and Logan forever, indeed!


	7. PART TWO 1560s WITCH HUNTS

**PART TWO: 1560**

Chapter Seven 

Hiding in the pile of hay in the wagon, Maria stretched out her legs. They were cramped from being curdled up against her body for the last two hours. She had originally been too frightened to move, but now knew it was safe as long as she only made slight, slow movements. She didn't want to alarm the blacksmith who was sitting up on his Belgium. She could smell the stench of his sweat even beneath the stiff straw. It was more revolting than the horse's droppings. So, she figured that if she could smell him then, he must be able to feel her fidgeting about even with the skittering wobble of the wagon.

Sweat pooled down her back and matted her auburn hair to her forehead and neck. Dirt covered nearly every inch of her, but she didn't have the luxury to be vain. Her green – sometimes grey/blue – eyes peered out a small opening in the hay. The clouds above drifted by like silent ships passing the harbor. If only she were on one of the ships bound for the New World.

The wagon came to a jerking stop and Maria held her breath as the blacksmith climbed off his steed. The burly man came around, picking up his pitchfork and jabbing it into the hay. He threw the straw over his head into the cattle's pin. He shoved the fork into the pile again and this time Maria yelped when the side of one of the tongs scratched her leg. The blacksmith immediately thrust his beefy hand into the hay, grabbing onto her dress. "Hey," he bellowed.

Maria kicked him, scurrying away from his claws. "I beg pardon, sir! Is this how you treat your country's women?"

"Get out of my wagon, whore!"

Maria stumbled out the front, accidentally kicking the horse. The horse went wild and reared up, screeching. Maria staggered back to avoid being the target. "Easy there, boy," she soothed, stretching out her hand. "Calm yourself down. I'm not going to hurt you."

The blacksmith rounded the wagon, waving his pitchfork threateningly. "Be gone, wench!"

Maria stuck her tongue out and then turned and bolted for the town just a hundred yards away.

Upon reaching the village, huffing and puffing, she held onto the side of a house, trying to catch her breath. Once her breathing evened out, she proceeded down the streets until coming to one of the larger homes. Straightening her shoulders, she knocked.

A minute later, the door swung open to reveal a tall woman who had the potential to be beautiful, but her permanent scowl turned men away. "You are late," she chastised.

"Sorry, ma'am," Maria repented. "I got here as fast as I could. Honest."

The older woman seized her up, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "You smell retched and you look worse. Go clean yourself up in the water barrel. It is by the barn."

Maria bowed and then hurried off towards the barn. She shooed a horse away and then cupped her hands and filled them with water, splashing the lukewarm water onto her face.

"You the girl Katherine recommended," a gruff voice behind her asked.

Maria jumped and whirled around. "Dear Lord, sir, you startled me!"

The man appeared to be no older than forty, which probably made him thirty. Lines creased his brow and were etched around his eyes, but he still had a bit of youthfulness. Only a sprinkle of gray dusted his wild hair. He stood erect, solid; with his hands crossed over his broad chest. He narrowed his eyes at her. "I asked you a question, girl."

Maria nodded. "Yes. I am Maria Bowen."

The man grunted. "Yet another handmaiden. My wife goes through you girls so quickly. You best hurry up and get your hide back into the house before Jillian gets impatient."

Maria rushed back to the house where Jillian was waiting, tapping her foot against the aging floor planks. "Katherine says you are a hard worker. Let us not make her a liar."

"Yes, ma'am," Maria answered. "Ma'am, I did not know you were married. I met a man outside who said…"

"Yes, yes. That is my husband, Conner. Pay no heed to him."

"Yes, ma'am."

Jillian grabbed a needle and cloth, handing them over to Maria. "You do know how to sew, right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. My husband needs a new pair of trousers. Until he comes in – you will need his measurements, of course – I want you to make a blanket for yourself. I fear that our last servant ruined the other."

"Yes, ma'am."

Jillian gestured towards the chair in the corner. "Go on now, girl, sit. Get to work. Idle hands make for idle minds."

Maria quietly walked over to the wooden chair and sat down.

"Katherine tells me you want to go to the Americas."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Why would you want to do such a foolish thing like that?"

"Is it foolish to want to be free," Maria asked quietly, working the thread through the needle.

Jillian scoffed. "Wherever you go you will have to work, read the Bible, and obey the King's laws."

Their conversation was interrupted when Conner came pounding into the room, his arms stacked high with firewood. He dumped his load by the fireplace and then looked towards the empty table. He raised his eyebrows at Jillian. "You planning on starving me, woman?"

Jillian clenched her teeth and stalked over to the kitchen area of the large room and began dinner.

Conner took the only other chair in the room, which was a mere few feet from Maria. He eyed her peculiarly, but remained as silent and stiff as stone. His hard eyes watched her for a while before he stood up and marched up the stairs to the loft where the couple slept.

Maria decided that while during her stay it would be best to avoid him.

End Chapter Seven

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**: I picked 'Conner' because one of the meanings is 'wolf-lover'.

**Sparkling-Diva**: Well…it's a fresh start! I could tease you and say 'will their love live on', but why bother? You and I both know that it does. Lol.

**Cassandra**: What's a happy ending? I can't seem to remember. Lol.

**Blix**: She is at peace. Or was. She's back now. I'm obsessed with Hugh, too. I don't think I would care how dumb a movie was…if Hugh's in it then it's good enough for me! Lol.

**K. Lynn Smith**: Oh, I would never abandon a story. I may end it rapidly, but I would never leave it hanging; so, no worries there. Anyway, here's that little taste of the 1500's you wanted.

**Roguechere**: I find the Black Death fascinating, too. I never really studied it _per se_, but I read up on it during my free time. Anyway, thanks for the encouragement. I'll pretend you reviewed those 10 tens. Lol.

**Kitty**: Thanks for the boost. I'll keep it going as long as enough people are interested. I don't have time to waste on unlikable stories.

**Shelaweena**: Thanks for the review! And, obviously, we're now in 1560! Yay!

**Nikki**: I love that even though you're frustrated by her death, you still enjoyed it. I think it was a big shock to a lot of people. Anyway, saying you could picture this story as a movie is quite a compliment. And better yet, you would waste money on it! Thanks. Also, I'm flattered and humbled that you're putting this under favorites.


	8. Common Ground

Chapter Eight

"Finish the blanket later," Jillian called out to Maria from the kitchen. "Go upstairs and get Conner's measurements. He needs a new pair of trousers by next week."

Maria suppressed a groan. She had forgotten about his pants. Grumbling, she picked up another needle and a large square cloth. _Should **she** not be doing this? He is **her** husband,_ she thought bitterly as she strolled up the wooden steps, the light from the fireplace growing dimmer as she continued her ascend. Upon reaching the top, she was surprised to see that it was not a loft like she had originally predicted. In fact, it was a whole other story. Impressed, she wandered to the door across the hall and tapped lightly. "It is Maria, sir. I have come to take your measurements. Your wife insists that you…"

A door down the hall swung open and a gruff voice commanded: "In here, girl."

Maria walked over and followed Conner into the bedroom, being sure to leave the door wide open. She glanced around, noting the large bed, cedar dresser, and oak desk and chair. An ivory bureau was nestled in the corner covered with perfumes. She couldn't help but wonder why they spent much more fancying the upstairs room. No one ever saw these rooms. Why not spend their money on the downstairs?

Conner, looming in the center of the room, raised up his arms so that he looked like a cross. "Well? Be on with it, girl. I haven't got all day."

Maria bit her tongue and approached the grumpy, older man. She knelt down onto her knees, bringing the cloth up to his leg. She worked diligently, quietly. When she was nearly through, he shifted his weight and she gave a frustrated groan. "Will you hold still? I am almost done."

He grunted, but kept as solid as stone.

Finally Maria was finished. His offered hand pleasantly amazed her. Tentatively taking it, she hauled herself to her feet. As soon as she was standing, he moved off towards the window and peered out over his land. "It is a woman's place to gossip, but I did overhear Katherine tell Jillian that you have no parents." He eyed her, suspicious. "Everyone has parents. And everyone comes from somewhere. Or were you created from the foam of the sea?"

Maria bit her lip and fidgeted. "I have parents, sir. They are dead. And I am from here, sir…England that is. My town is a two-day walk from here. Believe me, I am no Aphrodite."

He raised his eyebrows, but quickly formed back into his harsh stare. "You know your mythology. That can be very dangerous knowledge, especially for a woman. You best be careful whom you say such things to. Some would turn you in for blasphemy…or worse." He folded his arms across his thick chest, narrowing his eyes. "How does a maiden come to know such things anyway?"

Maria could have shot herself. Now she had to create a lie. She could not possibly tell him – a perfect stranger – the _real_ reason for her servitude. Or where she came from. Or what happened to her parents. "Perhaps, sir, the same place you learned," she challenged. Maria was no fool. She knew that speaking of such paganism was lethal for woman _and_ man. She was curious to know whether or not Jillian was aware that he knew mythology.

"Unlikely," he retorted. "I was taught by a great philosopher. One who happened to be a priest." He quickly added: "So obviously I was granted permission from God."

"So was I," Maria murmured, turning away.

Jillian came bustling into the room, fuming. "How long does it take to measure? I have been waiting for you downstairs, Maria. I need you to make a pie for desert."

After the girl scurried away, Jillian felt remorse for her sharp tongue. It was not Maria she was upset with. No, the girl had not done anything wrong. It was Conner who infuriated her. Of all the people her father had to betroth her to…"Super will be ready soon, husband. This time come on time."

"Oh be gone from my sight, woman! I am in no mood for your defiance."

Jillian huffed and marched away. Conner watched her disappear as she descended the steps. He did not know what went wrong between them. In the beginning, Jillian had been ecstatic when he asked for her hand in marriage. In truth, he had asked her father for her hand simply because she was the only woman in town who had wanted him. Jillian had thrown herself at Conner when all the other women had snubbed their noses. Yet, now she wanted nothing to do with him.

Conner sighed. She was probably upset because even after ten years of marriage, they had produced no children. Jillian had gotten pregnant every year (sometimes twice), but all were failures. She never even passed the fifth month. Jillian was ashamed of their misfortune. Everyone blamed her for not being able to give birth. She was labeled as barren and useless.

Conner sighed, feeling pity and disdain for his wife all at once. He sympathized with her, but loathed the way she had become. She was cold and distant. She still welcomed him in the bed, but only to try once more for a baby. There was no warmth or love. In truth, he felt that she despised him.

_Oh well_, he thought. _I do not care for her either. I guess we are even._

End Chapter Eight

**Author's Note**: The first rifle gun barrel was manufactured in the 1400s. Yet, didn't become popular until the 1800s.

**Tigerfan**: Thanks! And I'll update as frequently as I can, I promise!

**Sparkling**: Thanks. I really appreciate it.

**K.L.Smith**: Haha. Yes, I'm glad I could give your nerves a rest, too.

**Roguechere**: I considered making the guy in the wagon be Logan. I debated over it for a long while. Yet, I decided against it, planning on doing slightly similar scene in 1774, which will include Logan.

**Kitty**: Henry the 8th is already dead. I believe he died in the 1540s. Yet, I like that you attempted to figure it out. Kudos!

**Loki**: You're right on the money! Bravo!

**Blix**: I promise she won't be a servant in 1774. _laughs_ Have you seen _Someone Like You_? I bought the movie without having a clue what it was about. All I needed to know was that Jackman was in it.

**Enchanted**: Thanks!

**Nikki**: In the 1500s it was illegal to divorce. So Conner is stuck with Jillian. MWAHAHAHA!!! (Oh, yeah, nope, I don't think you're crazy. In fact, I think you're rather normal – like me! It's everyone else who is crazy.)

**Lex**: Why thank you. Also…bravo! I didn't think anyone would catch that!


	9. Unsafe Secret

**WARNING**: The views expressed in this Chapter are _not_ my views. You must keep in mind the time period.

Chapter Nine

The weeks rolled by and Maria went about her chores, obeying Jillian's commands and steering clear of her moody husband. On occasion, Maria had to wander outside and offer Conner a glass of water as he slaved away in the fields. Yet, barely a muttered word was spoken among the two. Maria got the distinct impression that Conner was avoiding her, too. At the dinner table, he hardly glanced her way and when he did it was with his hard, angry eyes and a grumbled "more" as he handed her his empty plate.

After a month slipped away in a blur of sewing, cooking, cleaning, and egg gathering, Maria slumped on the milking stool, her hands indolently wrapped around the goat's udders. She was exhausted and sore. When working for Katherine, she had not been put through such strenuous exercises. Maria had done most of the chores for Katherine and her six children, but she had been given time to herself. Jillian cracked the whip nonstop.

"They will not milk themselves," a husky voice grunted from behind her.

Maria yelped, her foot kicking out and knocking over the pail. "Dear Lord, sir, you startled me!"

He grunted, continuing his way over towards the cows before stopping and facing her, his eyebrows creased. "You have said that to me before."

"Aye, the day I arrived. You startled me then just as you startled me now…and like you did last week. You have a disturbing habit of sneaking up on people, sir."

He made a noise in the back of his throat and went about unlocking the gate to the cow pen. "I do not sneak."

"Oh, but you do, sir. You may not realize it, but you certainly sneak. The foxes and mice must be envious."

He snorted, swinging open the hatch and patting the cow on her side. "You are not like the other girls my wife as brought on. You speak as though you were taught."

"I was."

He came around, leading the cow by her roped leash. "By who?"

Maria bit her lip and scooped down, picking up the pail and replacing it into position. She tugged on the udders, milk squirting into the wooden pail.

"I asked you a question, girl," he growled, irritated.

"My father," she mumbled.

"Who was your father?"

Maria shook her head. "Just a man."

Conner growled again, agitation turning into anger. "I know that, you silly thing. What kind of a man? Not just any man could teach his daughter such things."

"A priest."

"A priest?" Conner rolled his eyes and marched from the barn, shouting over his shoulder: "I say damn all the Catholics and Protestants! They have caused us nothing but trouble with their stupid feud brought on by King Henry and his insane daughter, Queen "Bloody" Mary!"

Maria leapt to her feet and chased after him, fuming. "Damn you, Conner Crow! That was years ago! And in case you have not noticed, Mary is not our Queen anymore! Elizabeth is! Besides, my father was a good and honorable man! And he was burned at the stake for it!"

Conner whirled around. "Burned at the stake? By who? Queen Mary? Did that insane Catholic burn him for being Protestant? Those two religions are murdering each other for no damn good reason! Maybe the whole lot of you should be killed! Put the rest of this country out of its misery!"

"No, you savage," Maria screeched. "He was burned for protecting my mother! It had nothing to do with Queen Mary or the rebellion!"

"Then what?"

"Witchcraft," she shouted.

His face went slack and he stared at her, dumbfounded.

Maria clamped her mouth shut, her eyes wide with horror.

Conner slowly approached her. "Witchcraft," he spoke softly. "I have heard rumors from merchants that they have begun burning witches in Scotland, but no one has even been put on trial in England."

"They have started," Maria responded quietly. "Panic is beginning to spread. Scotland, Ireland. Switzerland has been doing so for a couple hundred years. It was bound to reach England sometime."

Conner eyed her suspiciously. "Is that why you are here? Are you hiding? Are the witch hunters after you, too?"

Maria stepped back, fear rising in her stomach. "You going to hand me over?"

"Answer me, girl. Do they fear you to be a witch?"

"They thought my mother was one. My father was burned along side her for trying to protect her."

"That does not answer my question. Are you wanted for witchcraft?"

Maria, her breathing shallow and sweat shimmering on her skin, nodded. "Yes," she whispered.

Conner nodded thoughtfully, glancing towards the house. "Speak of this to no one. If anyone hears a murmur of witchcraft, they will arrest you."

"You…you are not going to turn me in?"

"Not as long as you do what you are told."

Maria watched, still frightened, as Conner led the cow to the grazing fields. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the curtains in the kitchen's window flutter close.

End Chapter Nine

**Korella**: Thank you so much! I enjoy writing this story so I'm glad you approve it!

**Roguechere**: Mmm…I think you have. Haha. Anyway, yep, it's always nice to be on the same page.

**Blix**: She gets on my nerves, too, but she isn't really a bad person either. I adore Eddie from SLY. The same goes for me: he is my favorite Hugh character other than Logan (no one beats Logan).

**Loki**: You should feel proud. Congrats! Haha. Also, yeah, I think you may have mentioned it once or twice. _big smile_ But I love hearing it all the same!

**Sparkling-Diva**: Wow, that's just a sweet compliment. Thank you.

**Jo**: It panged me to kill her, but one has to do what one has to do. Haha.

**Enchantedlight**: Thanks!

**Dark Angel**: Right! Oops! I meant Belgian. My mistake. Sorry.

**Nikki**: Silly little loonies, indeed! How dare they put _us_ into the white jackets!

**Veronica**: Aw, thanks. It really means a lot to me. Honest.

**Kitty**: See? Learning can be fun! Haha. Seriously, though, thank you. And, yes, Jillian is Jean.

**Seul Desir**: Gee, I don't know where to even begin. I guess a 'thank you' is always a nice place to start. So…thank you. I'm surprised that a non-Rogan, non-"back-in-time" reader would even bother with this. Yet, I'm honored you gave me a chance. I know there are problems throughout the story, too. A writer is always her worst critic. However, even though you found errors, I'm glad you still found it interesting enough to continue. Thanks for the feedback!

**Rebel Goddess**: Yeah, I think everyone felt sorry for Corbin, which is a good thing because it would be hard to kill someone you loved. Anyway, nice to hear you like the time travel aspect.

**Sapphire**: It's ok you've been away. Welcome back my lost child. Haha. Ok, seriously, thanks for the review. And you're not the only one shocked by Chp6.


	10. Silent Gift

Chapter Ten

Maria sat on the hard floor beside the crackling fire mending one of Conner's shirts. She hummed quietly to herself as she worked the needle in and out. It was well passed midnight and the Crows had long since vanished into their bedroom. She had heard raised voices followed by a long, stony silence.

Now Maria sat in the quiet house, unable to sleep herself. The floorboards above her creaked and Maria jolted. She listened as heavy footsteps trailed down the steps. Maria kept her eyes away, trying to appear disinterested and occupied. Large bare feet settled in her line of vision and Maria glanced up just as a book was thrust at her.

Maria eyed Conner oddly as she tentatively took the leather bound book. She peered down at the engraved letters and tears welled up in her emerald eyes. She gazed up and whispered: "Thank you."

Conner shrugged and headed back up the stairs. Once he disappeared from view, Maria ran her fingers over the title: B-I-B-L-E.

She spent the next two hours reading her father's favorite scriptures. Three hours from dawn, she was surprised to see Conner return. He did not, however, look shocked upon finding her in the exact same spot. He nodded at her and proceeded to the kitchen. Maria cautiously followed him, standing in the doorway as he got a glass of whiskey from the keg in the corner of the room.

She was gathering up the courage to question him about the gift, but when he turned around, she swallowed her words. His eyes penetrated through her…hunting for an answer that he must have found for a small grin tugged at his mouth. His smile was slightly lopsided as though he had forgotten how to look friendly. Yet, that made Maria smile all the much more in return.

Then just as quickly, his smile faded once more into his stern glare. "My shirt finished," he asked gruffly.

Maria nodded. "Almost, sir. I had a little diversion. I promise to have it done soon."

"Good." He set his empty mug onto the table. "Come lend me a hand outside until Jillian rises from the dead." He breezed passed her, marching out the door.

Maria hastily trailed behind him, struggling to keep up with his long strides. Obviously he wanted to leave his act of kindness buried away. A silent moment only meant to be shared in the safety of their unspoken words. Maria did not want to look a gifted horse in the mouth, so she simply inquired: "You mind, sir, if I ask what we will be doing?"

"I need to get the far fence fixed." He stopped in front of the barn and pointed towards the woods. "Head down over there. I will get the tools."

-----

Maria used the back of her tan hand to wipe the sweat from her brow. Her other hand held a post into place as Conner hammered it to the main frame. The sun had barely begun to peak over the horizon, but the temperature was already streaking up the scale. Not for the first time in her life, she wished she were a man so that she would not have to wear the ridiculously restricting dress.

Conner, the heat and exertion making him slightly dizzy, considered removing his shirt, but knew it was far too inappropriate. The gossip mill would be springing to life amongst the wives of the town. But he did not want to walk away from the job until the task was complete. So, without taking breaks, they worked on for two hours. It was then Conner began to sway. Losing focus, he blinked rapidly, growing fainter.

Maria watched in horror as he suddenly collapsed. She scrambled over to his side, dropping to her knees beside him, cradling his head in her lap. "Sir! Sir!" She touched her palm to his face and winced at how feverish he felt. He nearly scorched her skin. "Oh, dear Lord, sir, why were you so foolish!" She stroked his cheek, coaxing him to awaken.

Conner's eyes fluttered open and he murmured nonsense under his breath.

Maria crawled to her feet, her arms secured around his chest. "Come on, sir, please. I can not carry you home."

He staggered onto his feet and the two of them dragged him into the house. Together they managed to get him upstairs. He gestured to be led into her room and Maria – hesitant – complied. She lay him down on her bed and then rushed off to fetch a basin of water.

When she returned, she soaked the sponge and wrung it out over his face. "This is what you get for drinking and then working in the hot sun. My father always warned me about the dangers of working on an empty stomach, especially in the summer heat."

Conner grumbled, swatting her pestering hands away. "I am fine. It was nothing more than a dizzy spell."

Maria eyed him pointedly. "I know that, sir. Why is it you think I am scolding you? If I felt you were ill, I would fetch a physician immediately."

"Our town does not have a physician."

"Then I would travel to the next town over...and then the next if I must."

He gave her an odd look, but said nothing.

Maria dipped the sponge once more into the lukewarm water before squeezing it out over his neck. "Then again, I know a few things about medicine myself. My mother taught me."

"Is that why they feared her to be a witch? She new how to heal?"

Maria shrugged. "I suppose that had something to do with it. Yet, my mother was also very beautiful and enchanting. It made the women in my village nervous. They feared for their husbands. Not that my mother would have ever looked at another man besides my father. But it was more than that. My mother could swim...and she could float."

"Float?" Conner brushed her hands away again.

"Yes. Float. Apparently there is this ridiculous theory that the only women who are able to swim and float are witches. If you sink, then you are normal. Have you ever heard of anything more insane?"

"That is rather strange. So, your mother could heal...she was beautiful...and she floated. So they burned her?"

Her downcast eyes welled with tears. "My father tried to intervene, but they killed him. They claimed that he used his priesthood as a disguise to do the Devil's work. 'A false prophet' is what they called him."

"Mmm." Conner sat up, fighting off the wave of dizziness that washed over him. "Can you swim?"

Maria's eyes shot up. "Pardon me, sir? It is improper for a lady to swim."

"That is not what I asked. Can you swim?"

Maria, huffing, stood up sharply. "I have chores to finish. If you will excuse me, sir."

"Come now, girl. I thought we had a trust. Have I said a word to anyone? Did I not promise to keep your secret?"

Maria fidgetted. "You must understand my reluctance..."

"Come, girl, you have told me this much already. What is answering one more question? Surely nothing you can say will be more damning than what you have already confessed to."

Maria sighed. "No. I can not swim."

Conner nodded, swinging his feet over the side of the bed and stood up. "You best get on with your chores. Jillian will be awake soon."

Maria scurried away.

End Chapter Ten

**Tigerfan**: Oh how right you are.

**Roguechere**: Doesn't sound good, you say? Well…of course not! Haha.

**Veronica**: Thank you so much. I appreciate the boost in confidence.

**Blix**: Jillian would snitch, wouldn't she? The little brat! Anyway, sometimes I wish my family was burned at the stake, but…I guess it is best that they aren't. Haha.

**Shelaweena**: I haven't really decided, yet. But I warn you: it won't end too happily.

**_smilie face_**: Thanks!

**Sparkling-Diva**: Jillian heard enough to cause trouble.

**Loki**: Haha! You're such a sweetheart!

**Travesty**: Chp4: I'm glad. You must be a diehard Rogan, right?

**Crimson Lipstick**: That's very nice of you to say. I just hope I can keep living up to your expectations.

**Enchantedlight**: Yep, she was, but in the heat of the moment you tend to blurt out things best kept quiet. Her irrationality will get her into trouble, that's for sure.

**TornadoAli**: Hey, it's ok you can't pick out the symbolisms. It's really not that important. Thanks for the review! And thanks for all the kind words of encouragement!

**Nikki**: You're absolutely right!

**Allora**: Thanks! Welcome aboard!

**Mandylor Mirage**: Chp1: Here's to hoping you read the rest! Thanks for the review!

**Kransp**: Don't you love it when that happens? I love getting lost in stories. I hate it when I get to the final chapter posted and realize it isn't the end. I hate waiting for updates!


	11. Flee

Sorry this installment took so long.  I went on vacation to Niagara Falls.

Chapter Eleven

Humming to herself, Maria stirred the stew.  She had spent the last two hours peeling and slicing vegetables.  Her hands were sore and calloused, but it was nothing new to her.  She risked a small taste, wincing as the stew scorched her tongue.  Yet, even through her burnt mouth and watering eyes, she approved the savor.  She gripped the iron pot's handle and pulled it away from the fire, setting the pot on the wooden preparation table.

"Smells good."

Maria, now accustomed to Conner's silent approaches, merely went about dishing out dinner.  "Hopefully you enjoy the flavor just as well.  I spent all afternoon on this stew."

Conner peeked into the pot as Maria slopped another spoonful into his wooden bowl.  "It appears edible, unlike your soup the other day.  I am surprised the pigs ate the leftovers!"  His voice was light and the ghost of a smile graced his sullen face.

Maria swatted him away.  "You wretched man," she scolded, not in the least bit offended.  "Maybe next time I will have you cook.  Then we shall see who mocks whom.  You, dear sir, cannot even bake bread."

"Is that a challenge, girl?"

"No," she replied smugly.  "I would not bother making it into a challenge for I know you cannot do it."

"A man's place is not in the kitchen."

"That is just your way of admitting you cannot do it."

"No," he denied.  "It is just that it is degrading for a man to be in the kitchen."

"Then why are you always coming in here?"

"For the company."

Maria smiled, ducking her head.  Conner had never been so verbally blunt about their blooming friendship.  The only other time he had made such a bold move was when he had silently handed her the Bible, which she now kept under her pillow.  His acknowledgement of their bond made her flush, tingling with unashamed delight.  "I enjoy your company, too," she quietly replied, picking up the two bowls and going to place them on the dinner table.

She felt him move behind her, his body nearly grazing hers.  His warm breath tickled the sensitive skin of her bare neck.  Her hands shaking, she took a step back, pressing their bodies together momentarily before brushing passed him back into the kitchen.  "Water or whiskey," she choked.

"Whiskey," his husky voice murmured as he followed her.  He stood a few feet away, his eyes tracing her every move.

Maria felt a heat swirling through her veins.  Why was he doing this to her?  She risked a glance his way and swallowed hard at the desire roaring in his hazel eyes.  She fought back to recall a time when she may have led him on, but came up blank.

"Is-is there something you want," she asked, trying to break the spell.

He gazed at her, the yearning to touch her overwhelming.  He finally looked away, muttering: "I will get Jillian."

As he rambled away, Maria felt like screaming.  She knew she had just missed her chance.

_Whoa!  Maria, he is married!  And he is gruff, demanding, and…and tender in his own way.  And handsome, strong, trustworthy_…

Suddenly her thoughts were slashed into by Jillian's shrill cry: "I saw you!"

"You saw nothing, foolish woman," Conner rebuked.

"Do not lie to me, husband!  I saw that girl touch you!  I was watching from the stairs!"

"Quiet, woman," Conner barked.  "You are mad!  You saw nothing for there is nothing to see."

Maria slipped into the shadows of the kitchen as she heard angry footsteps pounding down the stairs.  Jillian marched over to her and grabbed her hair.  "What are you," she screeched.  "A whore, a witch, or both!"

Conner, who had come bursting into the room immediately after Jillian had clutched Maria's hair, commanded sharply:  "Let.  Her.  Go."

Jillian twisted her grip, causing Maria to yelp in pain.  "What is it you want?  You want his seed in order to produce your demon child?"

"Jillian," Conner snapped.  "Enough!  Release her!"

Jillian shoved Maria aside and the younger woman stumbled into the table.  The irate wife pointed an accusing finger at her.  "Or are you already carrying his child!  Have you already seduced my husband?  Where?  The wheat fields? The barn?  The…"

Conner rushed over, slamming his fist into Jillian's cheek.  "Enough!  I have never taken her into my bed!  She is an innocent girl!"

Jillian staggered back from his blow, stunned and now more furious.  "I cannot give you a baby so you sleep with this witch!  And do not deny it!  I heard her tell you so out in the fields: she is a witch!"

Maria gasped, her eyes wide.

Jillian sneered at her.  "That is right, witch.  I know your dirty little secret.  You are a witch looking for a man to give you his seed.  How many times did you take my husband between your evil legs?"

Conner tackled his wife, slamming her against the wall.  "_I said enough_," he hollered.

Maria saw the blood thirst in his eyes and gently placed a soothing hand on his shoulder.  "No," she said simply.  "Let her go."

Conner gave one final shove before jumping back.  "You will control yourself, woman."

Jillian glared at him, rubbing her bruising ribs.  Fuming, she sauntered off.  In seconds, they heard the sound of a slamming door.

Conner bowed his head, squeezing his eyes shut.  "She has grown crazed with obsession.  We have tried to produce a child, but have never been able.  Jillian has slowly grown mad.  She gets crazier and crazier with each failed pregnancy.  Now I fear she has finally lost her mind."  He looked up at the trembling Maria.  "We have to leave.  Jillian is reporting you as we speak."

Maria shook her head.  "Where am I to go?"

"We will head down to the port."

"We?"

Conner hurried out of the room, racing up the stairs.  Maria was hot on his heels.  He tore through the dresser in his room, grabbing anything of value.  "We will pay for a passage to the New World."

"We," she questioned again.

Conner slipped on a coat and then tossed her one of Jillian's cloaks.  "Come.  We do not have much time."

Maria slid the wool over her head as she followed Conner back down the stairs and out the door.  They trudged up to the barn were Conner saddled up on his horse.  He lowered his arm down to her and hoisted her up behind him.  Moments later they were tearing down the dirt road towards the docks.

End Chapter Eleven

**Nikki**:  Wow!  I'm very impressed!  You're finally learning grown-up talk!  Haha.  Seriously, there's no need to apologize.  I'm thrilled you're enjoying this!  **Loki**:  _places a hand on your shoulder to stop you from jumping_  Calm yourself, buddy.  Everything's going to be a-o-k.  **Sparkling-Diva**:  Yeah, you may want to watch what you do around the company of your parents.  Haha.  I probably would've given you a strange look, too.  No…wait…I would've danced with you!  **Enchantedlight**:  Thanks!  **Blix**:  I went back and reread that part.  You're right…it is a little amusing.  I hadn't even realized it while writing!  Haha.  **Roguechere**:  You're absolutely right…on both accounts.  **X aunthentic**:  Chp5:  I don't know the answer to that, but I'm glad you're enjoying it now.  Chp10:  A puzzle.  A history lesson.  A romance.  What more do you need?  Haha.  Seriously, thanks so much!  **Veronica**:  Wow.  Thank you so much.  Hearing things like that is what makes me want to post my stories.  **Shelaweena**:  They will.  I think.  Maybe.  Haha, I know that's not much of an answer, but it's the best I can do right now.  Sorry!  **S J Smith**:  Glad to hear it.  I was worried people wouldn't take to the whole time traveling thing.  Thanks for the review!  **Sapphire**:  Mr. Rochester and Jane?  Who are they?  **Kitty**:  Did you have fun at camp?  And, no, you're not stretching on your assumptions.  You're absolutely right.  Now doesn't that make you feel special?  Haha.  **Keikochan**:  Thank you so much.  It's always nice to know that I am picking up new readers.  **The-Princess**:  I know what you mean about Logan.  I did that on purpose.  See, with every tragedy, he gets more aloof and more intimidating.  So, by the time the last Part arrives, he'll be in character.  Anyway, I totally get what you mean about getting to the end of a story before realizing they haven't updated in forever.  I hate that!  If they're not going to finish it then they should take it off the site.  **Cassandra**:  Logan and Marie will end up together at one point.  Don't worry.  Thanks for reviewing!  I always love hearing from you.


	12. Fate Once More

Chapter Twelve

Bracing the salty sea wind, the fugitives hastily boarded the vessel after bribing the Captain in allowing them to join the voyage. Conner held Maria's slender hand as he led her away from the unnerving stares of the sailors. The condemned witch struggled to keep up, avoiding eye contact with any of the men. Instead, she kept her eyes trained on their interlocked hands. Conner brought her down below deck where he released her to fetch a blanket off one of the cots. He draped the wool over her shoulders. "Things are going to get cold and difficult," he warned. "Crossing the Ocean is brutal."

Maria gripped the corners of the gray blanket, tugging it snuggly around her slim figure. "You do this often," she joked. "I do not recommend saving witches as a hobby."

Conner shook his head, settling in beside her. "I have never done anything so foolish." He gazed down into her trusting eyes. "I am glad I made you an exception, Maria."

Maria closed her eyes, fighting back threatening tears. "Why did you do it? Why protect a silly girl?"

She felt his hand stroke her cheek tenderly. "Why did your father save your mother," he murmured, lifting up her face to his. "Someone had to save you, Maria. Why not I?"

Opening her eyes, Maria delicately caressed his coarse cheek, his stubble lightly scratching her hand. "Who shall save you?"

"You already have," he whispered. "I was a bitter man in an empty marriage. You glided in on your silver wings from Heaven and breathed live back in my dreary soul. How could I not try and save you now, my angel?"

"I am no angel," she denied. "I am just a girl who…"

"And I am just a boy," he intervened. "It is what we see each other has that matters. To the world, you may be an outspoken, unruly girl wanted on charges of witchcraft. Your only crime, however, was unintentionally taking a married man's heart and making him feel alive. To me, you are my angel of rebirth."

A lonesome tear trickled down her cheek. Lips quivering, she drew him closer, yearning to feel his sweet mouth against hers. Maria had never kissed before for no man had ever sought her hand in matrimony. Yet, even without the promise of wedlock, she wanted to give all of herself to him. As his lips brushed over hers, the ship rocked and Maria fell against him, breaking the kiss that hadn't truly begun.

Conner's head snapped up, his body tense. "We are off," he muttered, a hint of fear in his tone. He peered lovingly at her, gently pulling her off. "Now is not the time nor place," he explained gingerly.

Maria nodded her understanding. She surely did not want their first love making to be on a dirty, crowded ship.

"How long until we reach the New World," she questioned worriedly. She dreaded the thought of making the cargo vessel home. Not to mention: what was she to do during the cursed week of every month? She had no cloth to use.

"Months," Conner admitted bleakly. "Depends on the winds. The more wind we get, the faster the trip."

"Months?" Maria groaned, dropping her head into her hands. "How are we to pass the horrid time?"

"By staying out of the sailors' ways," he replied sincerely.

------

The days slipped by slowly. Maria grew ill off and on, but Conner – staying at her side – never caught any sickness. There were rumors that a sailor had come down with Scurvy, but Conner sighed in relief when Maria came fully out of her illness. It was on the sixth day of her most recently cured health when Conner risked venturing up top, feeling they both needed the fresh air.

Above deck, the Captain and his desolate frown met them. "I had prayed for you," he muttered secretively under his breath. "Yet, I can do no more."

Conner's grip on Maria's hand tightened as he suspiciously glared at the Captain. "What is the meaning of your cryptic words?"

The Captain glanced briefly away. "If given the chance, I would have sent you away on a dingy. Yet, I have been spied on by the hawks." The Captain stepped aside, indicating a group of Royal British officers. "They want the girl," the Captain explained sadly. "They boarded the ship not two hours ago."

Conner glanced back at Maria, stunned. Her terrified eyes sliced into his heart and he angrily faced the Royal Navy. "You come a long way for one woman," he spat.

The Commander sauntered offer, his golden buttons sparkling in the sun. "Do you know whom it is you defend," he barked, scowling in Maria's direction.

"Yes," Conner hissed. "I defend a frightened girl: a poor, innocent creature who…"

"Innocent," the Commander exclaimed. "She is no innocent! She spilt the blood of an officer!"

"What? You, sir, are then mistaken. She is not the girl you seek."

"Is not the woman behind you Maria Bowen," the officer asked, knowing full well who she was. "Maria Bowen savagely butchered Lieutenant Richard Smith while he performed his righteous duty."

"You call burning people at the stake 'righteous'," Maria shrieked.

Conner whipped around, his eyes narrowed in bewildered shock. "You…you confess to these charges?"

"Gladly," Maria growled. "Though I simply ran a sword through Smith. I did not _savagely_ murder him like his comrades did my parents."

The Commander smiled smugly. "It has been a long time, Maria. When I last saw you, you were but fifteen…your hair flying in the wind as you rode off on my horse, fleeing from me."

"Go to Hell."

"That is no way for a woman to speak." He nodded at his men and they advanced. "Do you want to know how I found you? There was a report of a witch who had seduced a married man," he pointed at Conner, "you, I presume. Of course when I heard of this, I thought of you, Maria."

Conner backed Maria up, standing protectively between her and the soldiers. He kept a careful, watchful eye on every move they made.

"I remember your mother," the Commander went on. "Beautiful…enchanting…temptress. I knew it was only a matter of time before you blossomed into a seductress witch yourself. So I came looking. I talked to your wife, Conner Crow; and men on the docks told us of the frantic man and woman who had joined Captain Xenos. So now you are wanted for murder, witchcraft, and evading the Royal Courts. Yet, there is only one trial I can perform now." He flicked his wrists at his waiting men. "Throw her overboard."

"_No_," Conner and Xenos shouted simultaneously.

Conner gave Xenos a surprised look as the Captain stepped forward, blocking the soldiers. "This is still my ship. I shall not allow the death of this maiden."

The Commander laughed. "You old fool. Everything you have belongs to your country and Queen. You have no choice. Be gone from my sight."

The soldiers sprung into action. Conner slammed his fists into one's nose before whirling around on his heel and kicking his foot into another's groin. He heard Maria scream and it startled him, throwing him off guard. Four men pounced on him, dragging him – kicking and hollering – away from Maria. He watched in horror as two others grabbed onto her, tugging her towards the edge of the ship.

Conner struggled against his captives, his face crimson with hatred and strain. "Nooo," he cried. "Let her go! She cannot swim!"

The Commander shrugged. "We shall see."

Conner watched helplessly as they tossed Maria over the side. Passionate rage filled his veins and he lashed out, ripping out of the soldiers' holds and racing over to the side. Without a moment hesitation, he leapt into the turbulent waves. The shock of the frigid water only slowed him for a second before he frenetically began his search, diving further down into the dark water.

His lungs burning for air, he was forced to surface, gasping for the rich taste of oxygen before plunging back under. He kicked ferociously, the dirty, salty water stinging his eyes. He was once again straining to remain under when he finally spotted a faint silhouette drifting to the bottom. He pushed himself further, reaching his weakening hand out to her. Unable to hold his breath any longer, he gulped in a mouthful of seawater. Knowing he was drowning, he fought even harder to reach her.

As his fingers floated down towards her, his soul gave way and the world grew dark.

End Chapter Twelve **END PART TWO**

**PART THREE: 1864** Coming Soon!

**ROGUECHERE**: I love McD's! Sadly, their food is WAY to unhealthy and I'm on a diet. Shucks. Anyway, of course I want to see them happy…eventually. **LOKI**: Bet you received another author alert. Are you ok? Sitting still? _laughs_ **SPARKLING-DIVA**: You crack me up. Remind me to serve you sugar for dinner if we ever meet. I would love to see your hyperness first hand. Haha. **ENCHANTEDLIGHT**: Yeah, we all hate Jillian now. She's a quack! Thanks for the review! **BLIX**: Oh, I had a blast. Thanks for asking! It was my first time going even though I only live 3 hours away. Anyway, I'm totally against hitting women, but Jillian really had it coming. **LJ**: Thanks so much! I hope the wait wasn't too long for you! **SHELAWEENA**: You guessed right! Sorry, but it would defeat the point if they got together too soon. And, yeah, Jillian is crazy. **VERONICA**: Thank you so much! With all this pressure on me to get it done before I leave, I'm worried that the story isn't as good as it could be. Your review just gave me a push in confidence! Thanks! **KEIKOCHAN**: I'm trying! Thanks for the review! **GIMPY**: Chp5: Well, as you know by now, you guessed it right. It is a tragic romance. Anyway, don't apologize to me. I understand. It's good to hear from you again, though. But you really didn't have to review all 6 chapters. I mean…wow! Chp6: I take it that "crazy powerful" and "almost making [you] cry" is a good thing? If not…sorry! Anyway, glad you liked those lines. I feared that I was being too dramatic. Chp7: I like the name Conner, too. Why? I don't know. Chp8: Oh, I love history! It was my favorite subject in school. I'm glad you're beginning to appreciate my fascination. And you're absolutely right about Jillian. It's actually why I put that in there. I wanted her to be more than just the bitch. I wanted people to understand why she was one. Chp9: Why keep her safe? Because Conner is now connected to her even through reasons he doesn't understand. Remember, in their other life, he had sworn to love no other; and that he would die protecting her. Now he is bound by that oath. Chp10: Timeless love…if only there was really such a thing. Chp11: Destiny is cruel. Thanks for all the reviews! You have no idea how much each one meant to me. **KRANSP**: You were right: inevitably it had to be. **MELPHIS**: Thanks for the review! I promise that I'm working as fast as I can! **ALLORA**: Sorry. They didn't get away, but who knows what is in store for 1864! **THE-PRINCESS**: I only have 2 months left and am very busy, but I wouldn't mind taking a look at your first chapter. I just can't promise that I can beta the whole story. I don't want to make a commitment and then find myself breaking it. So…give me your e-addie and I'll email you.** KITTY**: I only live 3 hours away from the Falls, but it was my first time going. I loved it! Anyway, I'm glad you understand about the whole fate thing. She had to die in order for the next story to work.


	13. PART THREE 1860s CIVIL WAR

Chapter Thirteen

"Father!  Father, come quickly!"

Alexander D'Angelo leapt out of his leather chair in his Study and burst through the door as his daughter's frantic cries continued to shout out to him.  He flung himself onto the large, wrap-around porch in time to see his daughter struggling to help a nearly unconsciousness uniformed man up the steps.  He hurried down, taking hold of the wounded soldier.  Together, the duo dragged the Union officer into the parlor where they laid him on the green sofa.

A few curious, dark faces poked their heads inside.  Alexander glanced back at them and barked: "Find Rose.  Quickly.  Have her bring water and bandages."

Immediately, the men disappeared.

Alexander yanked his daughter away from the soldier.  "Mara," he scolded.  "Don't."  He knelt down, pulling back the bloodied dress jacket to reveal a deep, gushing wound.  "Bullet," the father stated grimly.  He withdrew his silk handkerchief from his breast pocket, pressing it against the battle injury.  "Where did you find him?"

Mara, who'd been wincing at the crimson blood soaking her father's hands, snapped to attention.  "He was by the pond.  Hidden in shrubbery.  He must have been in that fight we heard going on last night."  She peered into the soldier's pale, clammy face.  "Will he make it," she whispered, thinking of her own brother who was somewhere marching into battle.

Before her father could respond, a beautiful African American bustled into the room, her arms flowing with makeshift medical supplies.  Alexander took his daughter's arm and pulled her out of the room as Rose began fishing out the bullet.  "This is no place for you," Alexander ordered.  "Go prepare a room for him while Rose and I handle this."

Mara rolled her eyes at her father's over-protectiveness.  "Father, our guestrooms are made up.  There is nothing for me…"

"Then go help Raul…uh…dust or something.  Just…be gone, Mara."  Alexander slammed the door shut.

Mara sighed, a groan escaping her lips.  She flopped down on the chair against the wall underneath the Leonardo da Vinci painting.  She noticed their butler, Raul, staring at her amusingly, ignoring the feather duster in his calloused hand.  Mara tossed him an exasperated look and they both laughed.

"Miss Mara, yer father jus' doin' his best."

Mara sighed, her corset digging more firmly into her sides.  "I know.  But he needs to realize that I am not a little girl anymore."

"He knows.  Why ya think he's so paranoid?  Any day now, I reckon some fine young suitor's gonna whisk ya away.  Yer father don' wan' that.  He'd miss ya."

"I'd miss him, too," she replied softly.

Raul went back to work, leaving Mara to her thoughts.  After her mother had died in childbirth delivering twins, Mara had felt it her sole duty to look after her father and siblings.  Sadly, at the sweet age of four, the twins had both caught scarlet fever and died.  Then the bloody, miserable Civil War broke out.  Defying their father's orders, her older brother, Stash, had joined the Army.  This left Mara and her father alone.  She couldn't bare the thought of leaving him without family.  He needed her.

An hour later, the door to the parlor clicked open and Rose came scurrying out.  The servant wasn't surprised to find Mara waiting.  "Master Alex won't be happy about this."

Mara waved her friend off.  "Oh, let me worry about him, Rose.  I can handle the old geezer."

"Old geezer, uh," a sharp voice reprimanded.

Mara glanced over to see her father standing in the doorway.  She beamed up at him.  "Yes.  An old geezer; one who I happen to adore."  She stood up, straightening her dress.  Her expression now solemn, she risked inquiring: "Is he well?"

"He's alive," Alexander muttered, shaking his head.  "The poor bastard lost a lot of blood.  Lying out there all night like that…he's resting now, but I think it would be best to get him upstairs.  I wouldn't want any visitors seeing a Union soldier in our home."  He placed a hand on Mara's shoulder.  "But not you, my child.  Let Raul and Cliff take him upstairs."

Mara groaned.  "I need to do _something_, Father."

"Fine.  Make him some soup.  I am sure he'll be famished when he awakens."

Mara hurried off to the kitchen before her father had the chance to change his mind.

-----

By dusk, Mara slipped into the darkened room carrying a tray.  She set it on the nightstand and perched herself on the edge of the bed.  She gingerly checked his bandages, satisfied that the bleeding had stopped.  She took the washcloth from the basin and dabbed it over his ashen face.  Peering down at him, she noticed that he was a rather handsome man.  His features were hard, but gentle.  The stubble growing on his cheeks gave him a rugged, sexy quality that most men couldn't pull off.  She suddenly had the curiosity to see his eyes.

As if on cue, his eyes began to flutter open, groggy and laced with pain.  The haunted, ancient glaze in his amber-hazel orbs instantly astounded her.  They were eyes of a man who had lived a thousand mysterious heartaches.  And then his eyes sharply snapped over to her and she realized that they were also very intimidating, glowering eyes.  They weren't as sorrowful or sore as they at first seemed.

"Hi," Mara choked.  She cleared her throat and attempted again: "I am Mara D'Angelo."

"Where the hell am I?"

"My home.  My Father's home, anyway.  I found you earlier.  You had been injured in battle."

"Battle?"  He glared at her suspiciously.

"Don't…don't you recall the battle?  I'm sure you were there.  You're wearing a uniform after all.  Or, you were, but Raul unchanged you."

"Who the hell is Raul?"

"Our servant."

"Servant…or slave," he spat.

Mara, startled, jerked back by the brutal harshness in his tone.  "Well…servant, of course.  My father pays them weekly wages."

"Are they free to leave on their own will?"

"Well…yes…no...not really."

"Then they're slaves."

Mara shook her head.  "No, you don't understand.  Slaves are people forced into labor without pay.  The people who work for us are paid…and they aren't necessarily forced to work.  It's just that they know that if they leave us then someone else will take them.  And their new masters would most likely beat them."

"So, your "servants" want to stay," he interrogated.

"I suppose so.  It's much better here then it would be on other plantations."

"But if they had the choice, they would rather be back in Africa…or at least be free to walk down the _sidewalks_ – not the curb – without fear of being captured and sold at an auction."

Mara opened her mouth and then closed it.  "I…uh…dear sir, you're twisting everything around!  My Father helps these people.  If he doesn't 'own' them _per se_, then someone else would.  At least here they have a decent family who looks after them.  Would you rather we allow them to be bought by a cruel, unmerciful brute who will work them to death without a single penny?"

He growled, rising to sit up.  "You're rather politically outspoken for a woman."

"And you're an ass," she retorted, pushing him back against the pillows.

"Ha," he scoffed.  "And I thought all you ladies down here were Southern Bells."

"You thought wrong, Mister Wolf."

"Wolf," he asked, struggling to get up again.

Mara rolled her eyes.  "What?  You rather I call you Kovac?"

"Kovac?"

"Your name, you silly idiot."  This time she shoved him more ferociously back down.  "Or at least it's what the papers in your uniform said.  Or are you telling me you stole those papers and that uniform?"

He growled.  "Just tell me what they said."

"Sergeant Kovac Wolf from New York."

He stiffened, giving a curt nod.  "That's right.  I'm Kovac Wolf."

Mara eyed him oddly.  "You don't remember, do you?"

"Of course I do," he denied, not wanting to bruise his dignity any further.

"No you don't.  You have amnesia."

Kovac simply scowled.

End Chapter Thirteen

**Loki**:  That was my plan all along.  Trust me, I didn't want Marie being a servant again either!

**Gimpy**:  Why, thank you for the praise.  Also…bravo!  I'm thrilled to read your reviews because they always show your insightfulness.  I'm so glad you're looking deeper into the story because that is the main reason I decided to write this.  I wanted something with a soul.  And by your reviews, I feel as though I have accomplished my goal.  Thank you.

**Roguechere**:  Maria deserved that plot twist.  I would've killed anyone who tried burning my parents!  Anyway, don't hope for the best in this lifetime either.  Sorry, but the point is that they don't find happiness until their final life.

**Sapphire**:  Sorry I missed you buddy.  I submitted Chp12 before receiving your review.  Anyway, I've seen Jane Eyre (the 1970s version)…I should've recognized those names.  And you went and read all my stories?  Boy, I feel sorry for you.  Haha.

**Sparkling-Diva**:  Don't apologize for getting hyper.  You should see me after I drink Apple Juice.  I don't know why, but Apple Juice makes me really crazy.  Haha!

**Blix**:  Romantic?  Or insane!  Haha.

**Nikki**:  You've got it right!  They can't live happily ever after or else they wouldn't get another life.  Think positively!  Haha.

**DarkRoses**:  Haha.  I remember your other review.  It was for Coincidences.  Chica, let's get something straight: Mulder, Roxton, and Logan are mine.  Hahahaha!  Ok, ok…I'll share…I guess.  I must say, though, that I've never been hailed to before.  It was…interesting.  Haha.

**Kitty**:  I never saw Titanic.  I know: I must be the only woman on this earth who didn't see it.  Anyway, glad I slipped in one of your favorite words!  And you're not being picky.  Everyone's been hinting at or bluntly asking that question.  Don't worry…I am a Rogan after all!  hint, hint


	14. Conflict of Views

Because a lot of people were taking guesses, this time around I'll give you more detail on the Who's-Who.  As you'll see, through it all, I've used names that have hidden meanings:  **Mara** = "bitter sea" = Marie; **Kovac** = "worker in metal" = Logan; **Alexander** = "protector of mankind" = Xavier; **Stash** = "sun's rays" = Scott; **Rose** = "a flower" = Ororo; **Lesley** = "Grey Fortress" = Jean; **Wasaki** (last name) = "The Enemy" = Stryker; and **D'Angelo** (last name) = "Angel", which is what Conner had called Maria.

Chapter Fourteen

Tchaikovsky filtered out of the phonograph as Mara twirled around the room, eyes closed, imagining her dance partner.  Her petticoats made a swishing noise as the lower half of her gown flowed out like a bell.  Her arms were extended, elegantly swaying with the melody of _Invocation to Sleep_.  In the doorway of the sitting room, Kovac watched, mesmerized by her gracefulness and beauty.  She had her long, curly locks of hair down and it cascaded down her back, waving out as she danced.

There was something about the young woman that made Kovac freeze up inside.  She was familiar somehow.  She felt like a vanished dream, one which you regret forgetting.  He wondered if it was that they had met before, but dismissed the idea.  She would've said something earlier if she'd recognized him.  _Must just be my amnesia playing tricks_, he decided.

Just then the instrumental music ended and Mara opened her eyes, gasping at seeing her witness.  "My Heavens," she exclaimed, her face darkening into a burning shade of red.  "How long have you been spying on me?"

"Long enough."  Kovac didn't try to cover-up.  They both knew well enough he had been intruding on a private moment.

"You shouldn't be out of bed," Mara scolded.

"You and your servants have kept me strapped to a bed for five days.  Don't mess with me, Southern Bell."

"Did your mother forget to teach you manners," she reprimanded.  "The whole time you've been here you've been rude and degrading.  You're lucky we took you in at all!  You are, after all, a Yankee."

"You calling yourself an inhumane Confederate," he challenged.

"Brave words for someone in enemy territory," she rebuked.

"It'll be under Abraham Lincoln soon enough.  Or would you rather General Lee led his men of vicious slave owners into victory?"

Mara rolled her eyes.  "You think being a woman means being stupid?  This war's focus isn't even really on slavery, Sergeant Wolf.  It's about State Rights!  We Southerners don't want the federal government controlling us.  When the Declaration of Independence was signed it stated that individual states had the right to govern themselves without interference by the federal government.  All we want is the right to choose our own laws, our own ways of life, and to solve our own problems."

"Miss Mara, you evaded the question.  Which side do you want to see still standing in the brutal, heartless end?"

"Sergeant Wolf," a stern voice commanded.  "You will mind yourself around my daughter."

Kovac slowly turned around to face the irate father.  "Yes, sir.  And I am thankful for your hospitality, Mister D'Angelo.  I must say, though, I am confused by it."

Alexander's expression lost its coldness.  "I don't wish death upon anyone, Sergeant Wolf.  This is a disheartening war.  I wish there were other means to solve our differences."

It was then that Mara noticed the letter in her father's clutched hand.  "Stash," she whispered.

Alexander nodded.  "From the frontlines."  He handed it to her.  "A messenger dropped it off this morning."

Mara greedily took it and flipped it open.  She read silently, tears filling her eyes as her brother explained in gruesome detail of his ordeal.  Kovac and Alexander looked on in silence.  When finished, she handed the crumpled paper back to her father and then walked away.

"It has been difficult for her," Alexander admitted sadly.  "Stash and her were always close.  He taught her how to swim in the pond.  The very pond she found you."

"And their mother," Kovac asked gently.

"Passed away giving birth to our twins."

"Where are they?"

"Died from scarlet fever."

"I can see why you don't want to let her go."

Alexander sighed, fumbling with the paper in his hand.  "I will have to…someday.  I can't keep her forever."

"Well," Kovac stated more boastfully.  "It's not as though she'll be easy to get rid of."

Alexander decided not to take offense and instead chuckled.  "This is true.  She scares all the men away.  I think she does it, though, because she doesn't wish to leave me.  She feels it her duty to look after her old man."

"She's a good child, Mister D'Angelo."

"Yes, indeed.  Except the problem is…she's not a child anymore.  My Mara is grown up.  You know, we just celebrated her twenty-first birthday and she still hasn't had a single suitor to call upon her?  She's never been courted.  I fear that she may never marry.  Then who will look after her when I'm gone?"

"I reckon she can handle her own, Mister D'Angelo."

"Yes, indeed she could."  Alexander glanced down at the letter in his hands.  "But I don't want her to have to be alone."  When he looked back up, his face was set back into his usual dignified expression.  "I must ask you not to wonder around the plantation."

"I understand, sir."

"Good.  Lunch will be served soon.  Would you care to join us at the dinner table today?"

Kovac gave a slight nod.  "It would be an honor, sir."

End Chapter Fourteen

**DarkRoses**:  Oh, you didn't scare me.  I just found it amusing…but I also appreciate it.  Anyway, TLW is great!  Have you joined the board?  Go to and sign-up!  There you can chat with a ton of TLW fans.

**Loki**:  And here's yet _another_ update!  I'm on a roll now, aren't I?  Rose is Storm, which sucks for her.  But remember, most African Americans were slaves in the 1800s.  Anyway, I made a list up top.  I hope it was helpful!

**Kransp**:  I update within 24 hours.  So, some were left hanging for a few hours.  I guess you're lucky, uh?

**Gimpy**:  You're absolutely right on two accounts: the who's-who and Logan.  In fact, the Logan from 1943 will be the same Logan in the Present.  I've actually already started writing Chp19, which is the start of Part Four.  Anyway, you're welcome for the review.  I'm sorry I was so late on it.  I can't believe a month went by without me noticing.  Also, Canada played a small role in our Civil War.  It's where a lot of the slaves and the men who didn't want to fight tried to go.

**Blix**:  Expect the unexpected and you'll get by.  Haha.


	15. Arrival

Chapter Fifteen

Despite Mara's blunt honesty with Sergeant Wolf, she truly was a polite, well-mannered Southern woman.  Yet, the Union officer sparked a righteous confidence in her.  Something about the gruff, muscular man filled her with the passion she'd been forced to bury out of sight over the years.  It was improper for a lady to be political or to be outspoken, especially over gentlemen's affairs.  And even though Wolf was the rudest man she'd ever met in her sheltered existence, she felt the burning need to stand shoulder to shoulder with him and declare herself an equal.  Unfortunately, tonight she had to hide back behind friendly smiles and soft words.  Tonight they were hosting company.

Mara, her forest green ball gown pushing up her breasts, exposing a luscious view of her cleavage like so many dresses of the latest fashion did, stood among a group of gushing young men whose eyes kept drifting downward.  She felt like cattle being examined to determine whether to be butchered or used for breeding.  It was degrading and humiliating.

She felt a pair of intense, familiar eyes and she glanced back, her breath catching in her suddenly dry throat.  Kovac stood near the wall dressed in one of her brother's dress suits, inhaling a cigar.  He was a larger man than Stash so the fabric stretched deliciously over his brood body.  She studied the way his mouth curled around the cigar, sucking on it almost erotically, but rather naturally.  He slid it out between his tempting lips, the end of the cigar moist from his sultry mouth.

His piercing eyes stared straight at her, his expression darkened with…with what?  Desire?  No.  But it was something that made Mara swallow in anticipation.

She excused herself and sauntered over to the secret Union officer incognito, the enemy in arm's reach.  A teasing smile played at her porcelain face.  "See something you want, Sergeant Wolf?"

"You offering," he retorted harshly, obviously trying to intimidate her.

"What if I am," she crooned boldly.  _Two can play at this game_.  Mara was determined not to give him the upper hand.

"Careful, Southern Bell," he warned, slipping his cigar back into his mouth, eyeing her sharply.

"Or what," she challenged.

"You may lose your reputation as a lady," he replied as though threatening, but cautioning her at the same time.  "Your father would never marry you off to one of those boring blokes," he nodded toward the group of men she'd been talking to, "if they knew you had been bedded, and with a Union officer to add salt to the wound."

Mara had to give him this victory.  She'd lost this round.  She may have courage, but she wasn't brave enough to step it up another notch.  Settling into her loss, she sighed and rolled her eyes.  "Maybe that's what I want," she confessed.  "I mean, about not being married off."  She crossed her arms just below her bosom.  "Go ahead and ruin my name so I don't have to wed one of those boring blokes."

Kovac flicked his eyes down, studying her.  "You really mean that, don't you, Bell?"

"Yes," she replied wistfully.  "I do."

"Why," he inquired honestly, not mocking her in the slightest.  "I thought it was every Bell's goal in life to marry the wealthiest man they can get their claws into."

Mara laughed.  "It's not exactly like that, Sergeant Wolf…"

"Kovac."

"What?"

"Just call me Kovac.  I'm tired of the Sergeant bullshit."

"Ok, Kovac.  But you obviously don't know every woman, then.  I for one don't want to marry some rich old geezer, especially not for money."

"Then what?  Love," he scoffed, this time plainly ridiculing her.

"As a matter of fact…no, Kovac, not for love.  Granted, love would play a vital part, but that's not the sole reason I would want to marry someone."

"Then what?  Why else would a woman want to marry if not for money or love?"

"Camaraderie."

"What?"

"Company…friendship…someone who stimulates my mind and appreciates my thoughts."  She sighed, a playful grin winding its way into her eyes.  "Not that I ever expect to find a man who doesn't mind an outspoken, opinionated wife who thrives on sophisticated debates and hours of intelligent discussion.  And I want to be able to laugh with my husband.  I want us to be best friends beyond all else.  To me, that is more important than romantic, girlish love."

He was staring at her again with that unrecognizable look.

"Mara," her father's voice suddenly sliced between them.

Mara looked over at the doorway to see her father standing happily beside a weathered man in grey.  "Stash," she exclaimed.  The crowd parted to allow her to run straight up to her brother.  She threw her arms around him and he gripped her in a force hug.

"Hey, little sister," he laughed, spinning her around.  "I missed you, too, you little brat."

"Are you home for good?"

"No, we're just passing through.  I only have until tomorrow morning."

Mara looked shattered.  "I wish this bloody war would just end."

"It will, Mara.  Just as soon as we crush them damn Yankees."

Still by the wall, Kovac watched the scene between the two siblings quietly, mixed emotions churning in his stomach.

End Chapter Fifteen

**Nikki**:  Thanks!  I've been having a world of trouble with my PMSing computer.  Thanks for the patience!

**Blix**:  Yes it would be.  So, I guess you never win.  _winks_

**Allora**:  Xavier showed up in Part Two as the Captain of the ship.  Yet, don't worry, I'm sure a lot of people missed that one.  I didn't exactly point it out.  Anyway, I usually update a couple chapters per week, but off and on my computer gets PMS.  So, you'll have to forgive the erratic posts.

**DarkRoses**:  The TLW board is a place for fans to chat.  I tried giving you the addie, but the uploading stripped it.  Anyway, of course your reviews do more than 'take up valuable' time.  I truly appreciate every single one.  I would've stopped writing ages ago if no one was interested.  So, yes, thank you very much.  It's what I feed off of.

**The-Princess**:  They'll be what you can call a 'confrontation'.  That is, if I stick to my original plan.  Anyway, I'm fascinated by the Civil War era, too, but not nearly as much as World War II.  You could get me rambling on WWII forever!

**Kitty**:  Chp13:  I don't watch ER, but I think I know whom you're talking about.  Isn't Goran Visjnic the dude who played Nicole Kidman's crazy boyfriend in _Practical Magic_?  Anyway, I could never bring myself to watch _Titanic_ because I knew how the movie ended and because Leonardo Di-Whatever is in it.  I can't stand that guy.  Chp14:  Are you from New York?  Anyway, yeah, that's a tie-in.  Bravo!

**Enchantedlight**:  I'm sorry for the wait.  My computer was acting up again.

**Shadi Andi**:  Thanks!  Sorry it took so long.  My stupid computer was being a brat.

**Keikochan**:  Cute is a good thing, right?  Haha.  Thanks for the review!

**Sparkling-Diva**:  Chp13:  Do you really have a picture of him in a frame?  I don't.  I have the Wolverine Collectible Doll, though.  Does that count?  Chp14:  Thank you so much.  I'm trying!  Anyway, I don't think in any life Xavier could be cruel.

**Gimpy**:  You're absolutely right about Alexander and his home.  You're really good at making these connections.  And, yes, Stryker will play a minor, but devastating role.  Anyway, is your houseguest still around?

**Shelaweena**:  Aw, don't be depressed.  Things won't be happy this time, but the very end won't be tragic.  Just two more parts after this one.

**Sapphireblue**:  I have no idea if Mara is a Biblical name.  It could be.

**Elvenangel**:  Oh, I don't have them written.  The only one I have pre-written is Chapter Nineteen, which is the start of the next Part.  Sorry.  I wish I had them all finished.  Haha.  Anyway, these past lives won't ever end happily, but the end-end of this story won't be tragic.  I promise.


	16. Caught

Chapter Sixteen

Mara dragged her brother over to the Sergeant, wanting so badly for the two men to get along. "Stash, this is…Kovac. He's…a friend of Father's."

Stash nudged his giddy sister. "Only a friend," he teased.

Mara elbowed him with a sharp jab to the ribs. "Stash D'Angelo, you behave yourself!"

Stash stuck out his hand, his eyes sparkling. "Good evening, good sir. It is a pleasure to meet you. I hope my bratty sister has not been too much of a nuisance during your stay."

Kovac regarded Stash as warmly as he could muster, which was a simple, tight nod and a mumbled: "Not at all." Mara clung to her brother as though he was a life preserver and she was drowning. For her sake, Kovac said nothing, opting to just slink away as Mara continued to make rounds with Stash. Kovac snuck up to his room, pulling off the enemy's clothes. He suddenly felt like a betrayer for wearing the evening outfit of a Confederate.

A few minutes later, Mara slipped unannounced into the room. "You disappeared awfully fast."

"You should not be in here," he warned, taking out his blue dress coat from the cedar chest at the foot of the bed.

"You can't wear those," she exclaimed, rushing forward and snatching the jacket out of his hand. "Take off your uniform! They will surely hang you!"

"I must leave," he said emotionlessly. "It is long passed time for me to go."

"Where," she cried. "Where are you to go? You have no memory and you are in enemy territory."

"I will go to Washington. They will help me sort things out." He eyed her oddly. "What do you care for anyway, Bell?"

"My brother's going back in the morning," she whispered. "Would you dare leave me, too?"

"What is this," Kovac demanded. "Why do you act as though I am your husband? Have you not noticed that we do not get along? Or that we are on opposing sides in this brutal, merciless Civil War? If I were smart, I would kill your brother in his sleep before he had the chance to kill me on the battle field!"

Mara flinched, sorrow clouding her face. "You wouldn't," she breathed, trying more to convince herself more than anybody.

"I would," he spat. "I would do it in a heart if it were not for you." He sighed, peering down at his rifle that lay across the bed. What trust Alexander bestowed upon him for allowing him to keep his weapon hidden away with his Union uniform.

"Me," Mara gasped. "I do not understand."

"Yes, you do," he grumbled. "You know damn well what I mean. I don't like it, but it is just the way it is. I have taking a liking to you and I do not want pain to befall you. Not pain that I can prevent."

"Then stay," Mara pleaded. "Despite your rudeness and your swearing and your disgusting cigars, I have grown fond of you, too." She smiled playfully, raising a questioning eyebrow. "Besides, I would be so bored without you. Whom else can I quarrel with?"

"Mara, I do not belong here. In your home. With your servants. Living off your father. It is just not right."

She lowered her gaze, murmuring: "Will you ever come back?" She knew his painful answer, but needed to hear him say it. Needed to hear his voice reject her. Only then would she believe it.

A pair of boots stepped into her line of vision. He hooked a finger under her chin, lifting her face up to his. "Mara, forget about me."

"I can't. I have never known anyone like you. I have always been outspoken, but you have made me passionate." She peered into his hazel orbs and saw his admiration. He appreciated her mind and spirit like no one else ever had. Encouraged, she licked her lips and purred: "Kiss me."

"What?"

"Kiss me. And if you feel nothing…then I will forget you."

He hesitated, contemplating the strange and tempting request. Did she honestly think they may have a future together? Where did she get that crazy notion? He had never given off the slightest impression that he wanted her. He had been perfectly clear of his intentions. Hadn't he?

"Kovac," she crooned. "Kiss me."

Hesitantly, he tenderly grazed her mouth with his. The kiss started out gentle and calm, but then he suddenly crushed his lips upon her, working feverishly against her soft lips. He slid his tongue into her mouth, kissing her hungrily. His arms wrapped around her slender waist, forcing her petite, soft body against him. He backed her up, colliding into the edge of the bed. Both their legs gave way and they collapsed onto the blankets, Kovac pressing her into the mattress. His mouth trailed down her throat, leaving a wet trace down to her breasts.

"What the hell," a voice shrieked just before Kovac was yanked off of her. "You damn bastard!" A fist smashed into Kovac's nose and a sickening crunch resounded. "Stay the Hell away from my sister you filthy Yankee!"

Kovac blocked the next blow, crushing Stash's hand in his own. "I do not want to fight you, but if you ever hit me again, I…"

Stash swung with his other arm, slamming a powerful punch into his opponent's side. "You wretched dog!"

"Stash," Mara exclaimed. "Leave him alone!"

Kovac, wheezing from the well-aimed blow, kicked out his foot, shoving the irate brother away. "You best never do that again or I swear I will kill you."

Mara ran between the two men, her arms spread out. "Enough! No one will kill anyone! Not in my house!"

Stash pointed angrily at the dress coat on the floor. "What the hell is going on, Mara! This brute is no friend of Father's! Look at that traitor's coat! He is a damn Yankee!"

"And you are a damn Rebel," Mara screamed. "Who cares? Who really cares?"

"You are a Rebel, too," Stash pointed out.

"Yes. Yes, I am. I am a Confederate. He is a Yankee. What does it matter?"

"He could kill me," Stash snapped.

Mara flicked her eyes over to Kovac. He was standing rigid, ready to leap into a fight. She turned back to her brother. "Not today," she said more calmly. "Someday you may meet up on the battle ground, but…today no one will kill anyone."

"Does Father know about this?"

"Yes. He does."

Stash reached out, grabbing his sister's wrist and pulling her to him. "When I leave," he growled at Kovac, "you leave. Got it?" He then dragged Mara from the room.

Kovac stared down at his gun. He would leave at the first crack of dawn.

End Chapter Sixteen

**Viviane**: Sure, why not? Haha.

**Nikki**: If I kicked my computer, then it would kick back -- that's how much of a pain in the ass it is. Haha.

**Enchantedlight**: Thanks!

**Princess**: There are 2 more chapters to this Part followed by 2 more Parts, which means a total of 14 more chapters (each Part has 6 chapters). But by all means, if you get bored with the story then stop reading it.

**Blix**: More conflicted than saddened I would think. He's fallen for Mara, but her family is the enemy. Yet, I suppose sadness could very well play a role, too.

**DarkRoses**: Hey, it's ok. And 2 months isn't a lot of time. Actually, I'm down to 1 month and 2 weeks. Eek! And this story still has 14 chapters to go. So much to do, so little time.

**Allora**: Hey, it's cool. I bet many people missed that one. I didn't point it out.

**Kitty**: So, you got that Brooklyn accent? Coolness. And yes, Goran Visnjic is h-o-t. Too bad he was a bad guy in 'Practical Magic', which I own and love.

**Cassandra**: Speaking of 'Lost in Finding the Way', when the hell are you going to update? Anyway, yep, you know me too well. This round isn't going to be happy either. They can't be happy because that would mean they get no more lives.

**Gimpy**: At least the stalker is gone. As for Logan/Kovac, he could bed me anytime, too. Haha. As for Mara, her future self -- Rogue -- isn't all that forthcoming (yet), but she does strike me as someone who wouldn't just fall into her "proper role".

**Harimad**: Thanks for the FYI. I think Mara is a beautiful name, too. I just didn't know where it came from. What does verse Ruth 1:20 say? If you don't mind me asking.

**RebelRogue**: Oh, we are ever so slowly approaching the Part we've all been waiting for (myself included). Just one more Part after this. And then the final Part, which will be the X-men we know and love.

**Sapphireblue**: I don't know the Bible too well. Who is Naomi?

**Ayrin**: Thank you so much. I'm trying ever so subtlely to change his character over time, which is caused by all his past grief. I'm glad you enjoy how I'm doing it.

**SparklingDiva**: I wish I had a picture of him. Is it an actual photo or something you cut from a magazine/copied off the computer?


	17. The Letter

Chapter Seventeen

The sound of shattering glass jolted Mara upright. Below her window came the noises of trotting horses and rowdy men. Terrified, she leapt off her bed, snatching her floor length robe as she raced out of her room. In the hallway, she collided into her brother and father. Stash grabbed her upper arm and dragged her into their father's master suite. "Stay here," he ordered. "If something happens to us, climb out the window and _run_. Use the fields has cover until you reach the woods."

He turned to go and Mara gripped his wrist. "What is happening," she hissed fearfully.

"Union soldiers," he snarled before clicking the door shut.

Mara dashed to the window and peeled back the curtain an inch, just enough to catch glimpses of the soldiers as they marauded around their front lawn. Apparently her father had agreed to share their home for the raucous died down, which was soon followed by a dozen or so heavy boots entering the foyer. She knew only the officers would come inside, leaving the enlisted men to guard the outside.

Mara moved away from the window, sinking down onto her father's bed. Sitting in the dark, she began to wonder about Kovac. Where was he? Had he gone downstairs? Would he leave with his comrades? If he was hiding out, would Stash turn him in?

Other than Kovac, Mara had never met a Union soldier. Last year, a battle had gotten so close to their house that Alexander and Mara had sat out on her father's balcony, watching the display of horrific violence as canons blasted through the air. Yet, they had been too far to make out faces. And in the dust and blood, she couldn't make blue and gray apart. To her, they were all the same. She'd pointed it out to her father, and Alexander – sucking on his pipe – nodded. "Yes, Mara. They look the same. You know why? They are the same. They all have mothers suffering and wives who will soon be widows."

Yet now, shivering in the dimly lit bedroom alone, Mara realized that there _was_ a difference. The difference was that a Confederate soldier wouldn't harm them…while a Union soldier just may take their lives.

The door creaked open and Mara jumped up, ready to flee.

"It is all right, Mara."

Mara released the breath she hadn't known she was holding. "Stash, you nearly put me into an early grave."

"Everything is all right. They are Confederate, not Union. But stay up here anyway," he warned. "Some of those men haven't seen a woman in months."

Mara nodded, fully understanding her brother's concern. "I will. How long will they be staying?"

"Not long. A few hours."

Mara bowed her head. "You will leave with them, won't you?"

"Yes." He sighed. "Mara, you knew I was leaving in the morning."

"Yes, but not this early."

"Just wait up here. Go to sleep in Father's bed. I will wake you when all of them have gone."

"Stash…what about…you will not say anything…will you?"

Stash clenched his teeth. "Go to bed, Mara."

"Stash, please. Promise me."

"I promise."

After he had gone, Mara snuck out of the room, heading down the hall towards the guest quarters. She tapped softly on the door. "Kovac? It is Mara."

Silence.

"Kovac?" She quietly stepped into the room. "Kovac," she cried as she rushed towards the open window. She stuck her head out, raking her eyes over the shadowy garden. Seeing nothing, she whirled around, her eyes darting around the bedroom. All his stuff was gone. He was gone.

Had he left before or after the Confederates came? If he had left before their arrival, then how dare he not say goodbye? Did she mean that little to him?

Mara turned back towards the window, gazing out over her father's land. No, he had admitted to her that he cared deeply for her. And even if her family would call her a naïve girl…she believed him.

Surprisingly, two months later, Mara received a letter in the mail with no return address. She eagerly tore into it, knowing it was from Stash. It had been weeks since she had heard from her brother. As she began to read the letter, she stopped and glanced down at the signature. Kovac.

She began the letter again:

_Mara,_

_If only I could express to you my deepest sorrows. I am sorry for vanishing off into the night. I know you must have felt as though I abandoned you. Or even the word 'betrayal' may have crossed your heart. Know that it is not so. In truth, I was tempted to wake you, but I could not disturb your peacefulness. Yet, know that I did bid farewell. Forgive me for stealing a kiss._

_I am sorry we are labeled as Yankee and Rebel. For this, we will never be more. I have my loyalties. You have yours. Sadly, they do not accept each other, but cross paths in hostility and bloodshed. In such, do not dwell over the 'might have been'. Live your life, Mara. Marry. Have children. Be happy. Forget me._

_Kovac_

Mara, her hands shaking, folded the paper and placed it in her pocket. _Like I could forget you_, she thought mournfully.

End Chapter Seventeen

Ok, folks, just one more chapter of Civil War Era, then we go into the 1940s! And guess what comes after World War II? That's right…our time! We're almost to Logan and Marie. Yippie!

**Nikki**: What an amusing review! I can't remember if you told me or not, but what genre is _The Rasmus_? I mean, are they Rock? Pop? Heavy Metal? Etc.?

**Enchanted**: I swear brothers sometimes have a sixth sense.

**Veronica**: It's like a cheesy Soap Opera.

**Gimpy**: I couldn't agree more…even about the painting. Well…maybe not painting necessarily, but I'm sure there's some hidden talent in our darling Logan. He may not even be aware of it because of his stolen memories, but I'm sure it's there.

**Blix**: I'm sure Stash did. If only I had more time… _pouts_

**Allora**: We're inching ever so closer to the time period we're all waiting for. Just seven more chapters to go before I introduce our Logan and Marie. Hang tight!

**Trunks**: I was rather disappointed that _X-men 2_ didn't have more Logan and Marie scenes like the first one did.

**Elven**: Sorry to keep you up, but thanks for the compliments. I never had to read Jane Eyre in my Brit Lit class. I did watch a version of the movie, though, with a friend of mine. I think it was from the 70s.

**Tiffany**: Past lives always interest me. I'm not sure if I believe in them or not, but they are fascinating to read up on.

**Kitty**: _salutes_ Yes, ma'am!

**Sparkling**: You're right, it had to be done. They can't get together…_yet_. However, I would personally be tempted to use that frying pan, too.

**Renaissance**: _I think_ 'Kovac' is actually a Jewish last name. I don't really know where I got it from. It just came to me while I was writing. Anyway, I love your user name!

**Pasty**: Thanks for enjoying my story. I'm so glad it's unique. I was worried someone may have already done something like this.

**Kransp**: I bet you say that to every writer. _laughs_ Seriously, thanks for the review!

**LostGurl**: Thanks! I'm so thrilled it's unique. So many stories on here are identical! (Not that that is a problem. They are really good stories. I just wanted to try something new.)

**Elvenangel**: Thank you so much. I know it's been a long while, but how was your trip? Mind if I ask where you went?


	18. The War Came Tumbling Down

Chapter Eighteen

The War Came Tumbling Down

_Mara,_

_Oh my dearest sister, I wish I could offer you comforting words to lift your spirit. When you told me that Lincoln was re-elected, I felt your frustration. Granted, we have our own President, President Jefferson Davis. Yet, the Union re-election of Lincoln is still a setback. However, we've encountered victory out on the field. I was at the Battle of Honey Hill on the 30th of November. Our 1,400 troops won against 5,000 Union. We lost 50 to their 750._

_I'm sure you don't want to be burdened with that, though. So, I will tell you some exciting news that I hope will brighten your day. If all goes well, I will be coming home for Christmas Day. I'll keep you in my prayers if you keep me in yours. Tell Father I am as healthy as a horse. I love you._

_Stash_

Mara neatly folded the letter, tears stinging her eyes. She sat huddled by the fireplace wrapped in an afghan her mother had made for Mara when she was a baby. Yet, she couldn't ward off the chill drifting through her blood. She had read his last letter dozens of times, but found no solace in Stash's words. She'd received the note three months ago. He never showed up; and his letters stopped coming. Every time someone came to the door, Mara felt her heart clutch, terrified that the visitor was bringing news of her brother's death. No visit ever came.

It was early April, the Battle of Fort Blakely still raged on in Alabama. The Confederate government had abandoned Richmond, Virginia and Union soldiers now occupied the city. Rumors were circulating that General Lee was on the brink of surrendering. Everything around them was falling apart. And all Mara could do was sit in her father's study and cry.

ONE WEEK LATER (16 April 1865)

Alexander watched as his daughter drifted through the mansion like a phantom. She was sullen and in despair, unable to accept all that had happened in her life. General Lee had called an end to the war, giving up arms to General Grant on the 9th of April. Since, most of their slaves had disappeared, seeking a life of freedom on the open road. A few stayed behind, having nowhere to go.

Stash never returned.

Alexander finally approached Mara one morning as she sat idly on the porch swing, staring off down the dirt road as though waiting for someone. He gingerly settled in beside her. "He loved you, Mara. He loved you more than he'd ever loved anything. He wouldn't want you to torment yourself like so. You must learn to live again, Mara."

"You have given up on him," Mara whispered accusingly, shaking her head. "I cannot. If he does not return in ten years, I will still have faith."

"This isn't faith," Alexander stressed. "This is wallowing in pity and pain. This is being too scared to let go. But, daughter, you _must_ let go or you will _never_ smile again."

"What does it matter? I have no reason to smile. Everyone I loves dies. Soon, you, too, will leave me, Father."

Alexander sighed. "Mara, your mother, your siblings…I loved them, too. I feel the grief of a husband and a father. Yet, have I ever let that destroy me? Have I ever let that take away my humanity?"

Mara looked to her father for the first time, peering at him with open eyes. The lines etched on his face seemed deeper than they had before. His hair was grayer. His eyes were duller. Yet his strength had never wavered. "I love you, Father."

Alexander was about to answer when his attention was stolen by the sound of horses racing up to the house. It was soldiers. Union soldiers. Alexander leapt to his feet. "Go inside, Mara. Now."

Mara glanced between the approaching men and her father. "No."

Alexander whirled around. "Mara, I told you…"

"Mara," a deep voice called out. A soldier jumped off his horse and trotted up the stairs. He nodded to Alexander. "Sir." He then turned to Mara, pulling a piece of bloodstained paper out of his pocket. "This is addressed to you, ma'am. Sorry to say, we found it on a battle field."

Mara, shakily, took the letter and opened it.

_Mara,_

_I have told you to forget me. I cannot, however, forget you. For your own sake, I hope you are not plagued by the same curse. Yet, I think about you constantly. Your laugh, your smile, your touch, your sharp-witted tongue…You haunt me, teasing me with your vision in my dreams. I do not regret disappearing into the night. I was saving you from a painful goodbye. But I wish I had been able to ask you to wait for me. Because I will come for you. And, Mara – if you will have me – I want to take care of you until death. I will ask you again in person, but I will give you time to think it over: Mara, will you marry me?_

_Kovac_

Mara, her throat tightening, asked: "And the soldier this belonged to?"

The Union soldier bowed his head. "I am sorry, ma'am."

End Chapter Eighteen

**Enchanted AND Keikochan AND Roguechere AND Nikki:** Thanks everyone! All your reviews mean so much!

**TiffanyBlack:** I originally had the letter way more poetic and sorrowful, but I deleted it because I knew that Logan/Kovac wouldn't write that way.

**Trunksblue**: Not exactly what you had in mind, uh?

**Sparkling**: I do like cliffhangers. They're so fun!

**Xpoisoned**: All 17, eh? Wow. Thanks so much for dropping a review!

**Pastyglue**: Well, no one died _last_ chapter. Yet, I couldn't leave things all nice and cozy, could I?

**Kala/The Princess**: Which would you rather I call you? Kala or ThePrincess? Anyway, it's ok about chapter 16. I don't expect everyone to review for every chapter. Lol. Anyway, glad you're still enjoying it! We've only got two more Parts (12 more chapters) to go!

**Gimpy**: Sorry. I'm just so damned busy. And I leave soon! Oh, I hope I have web access in the AmeriCorps.

**Shelaweena**: Easy there, hun. Don't depress yourself! Everything will be ok…eventually…maybe…

**Allora**: Hey, reading into things is the key to this story. So, if you like reading between the lines, then perfect! You're doing what you're supposed to! Anyway, I've got big plans for the 1940s.

**Renaissance**: Captain Planet? I remember that cartoon!

**SuckerForGrint**: Thank you so much. I try. Anyway, pop up and read what I wrote to TiffanyBlack. I talked about the letter.

**Amethystdancer**: Better and better? Hopefully I don't disappoint you with the 1940s. Or the present for that matter.


	19. PART FOUR 1940s WORLD WAR II

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I am _not_ following the comics. I may use things from various sources (comics, cartoon, and movie) but in the end, this is _my_ story and I am doing it _my_ way. I just want to make sure everyone is crystal clear. Thanks!

Chapter Nineteen

Part One

The sounds of semiautomatic gun vibrated against his head and chest. Screams from the falling men drove James further through the town. Windowsills shattered as bullets sailed passed him in a screeching roar. Planes whistled through the air, dropping shells. James turned to look at the man behind him and yelled something about keeping low. The poor boy – who was carrying a radio transmitter – looked no older than seventeen.

They ran blindly through the French streets as the sounds of bombs pierced his ears and the stench of blood filled his nostrils. His legs were burning from the strain.

"DUCK!"

"Down, down, down!"

James dropped like a ton of bricks to the dusty ground. Small granite flew up his nose and congested in his mouth, causing him to gag. Men around him glanced at each nervously; their dirty faces etched with fear. The stillness was more frightening than the sound of blasts. At least when the artillery was erupting, you knew what to do: shoot back.

James scanned the crowd, cursing when he couldn't find the boy who'd been behind him. He had the insane urge to jump up and scream for the nameless radio operator. _Talk about suicide_. He scrutinized each camouflage man he could see from his position. _Breath, soldier, breathe. The kid's gotta be around here somewhere_. Then again, soldiers had a habit of disappearing. Never to be seen or heard from again.

A shell sliced through the tension, whizzing overhead. James snapped his head back, watching as the missile hissed passed, crashing into a platoon fifty yards away. Anguished howls caused James to wince in sympathy. _Poor bastards_, he thought, leaping to his feet.

James sprinted through the maze of men, his body jerking from side to side due to the thirty-pound pack strapped to his back. He collided into a General who grabbed his arm and bellowed: "Wrong way, lieutenant! Now get your ass moving!"

James peered up, ice trailing his veins at the sight of the enemy marching towards them, armed to the teeth. James hesitated then whipped around, following the General. _Good luck, kid_. He raced for the city's borders. The Germans and Austria-Hungarians were rapidly gaining on the retreating Allies who were dashing for cover.

"_In coming_!"

"_Hit the deck_!"

The whirling crackle of the torpedo rang in his ears as James hurled himself into the trench. There was a split moment of deadness before the explosion rocked the earth's foundation. Debris from the tanker it had hit flung in all directions. Rocks and sand flailed his back and his hands, which he'd used to shield his head. He rolled onto his back, gazing wild-eyed up at the polluted sky. His ears tingled, but he couldn't pick out a single sound. All he could hear was a dull hum.

A grim face popped into view, covering the glaring sun. The man hovering above James moved his mouth, forming words James couldn't hear. He struggled to understand, but a strange exhaustion crept over him and he allowed his eyes to flutter shut.

Then he felt the searing pain.

His eyes snapped open in shock. He fought to inhale, his breath catching in his throat. He stared up at the younger man who was still leaning over him. In his eyes James could see what was mirrored in his own: he was going to die.

His lips parted, desperate to make some noise – any kind of noise –, but nothing came forth. His whole body prickled before going numb. A medic pushed the young man aside, his hands tearing open James's shirt.

_What good is a medic to a dead man_? It was his last thought before slipping unconscious.

Part Two

She raced out the bay doors with the other nurses, tying back her bronze hair. Choppers landed on the tarmac, crying out in a deafening roar. Mary was disoriented by the sudden burst of commotion. She couldn't make out the orders being barked at her. Dazed, she stared at the cots as the orderlies rushed the wounded into the hospital. There was so much blood and pus that Mary's throat choked with vomit, her eyes watering from the acidic reek all around her.

Someone grabbed her arm, screaming in her ear: "Don't just stand there! Help someone!"

Mary surged into action. It was why she'd joined the Red Cross. She wanted to help hands on in the war effort. Standing dumb wasn't going to save lives. She immediately followed a gurney into a surgery station. Men were being brought in by the hundreds, forcing the doctors to cram dozens of soldiers into the same makeshift operating rooms. The conditions weren't ideal, but it was all they had.

She grabbed a pair of scissors and cut away the soldier's uniform. Around his stomach was a primitive, hastily applied bandage. Inhaling deeply, holding her breath, Mary snipped through the blood soaked cloth. She gasped at the gruesome sight. A gaping wound, which was pouring blood, had something thick and slimy protruding from it. Her face went ashen when she realized it was his intestine.

Her eyes flicked up to his face. He looked no older than twenty-five. Did he have a young wife anxiously awaiting his return? Did he have a new baby girl he'd yet to hold? Mary herself was only twenty. She wondered what it would be like to die, knowing you'd never gotten the chance to live.

She tentatively reached out, stroking his face.

The surgeon eyed her sadly. "Don't get attached," he warned. "It's easier that way."

But it was too late. Mary had already vowed to take care of him. She wiped the sticky blood and dirt from his dogtags: JAMES "WOLVERINE" HOWLETT.

End Chapter Nineteen

**Suckerforgrint AND Enchantedlight**: Thank you so much!

**Blix**: Chp17: I didn't forget you. I submitted the chapter before I got the review. Anyway, Chp18: you did speak too soon. Oh well. At least it wasn't _too_ sad, right?

**Xpoisonedxangelx**: Well now you know better: make sure there's always a box handy! Anyway, thank you so much for the compliments. Just Two Parts more and the story will finally be done.

**Trunksblue**: There, there…you didn't really think I'd let him live, did you?

**Allora**: Can't relive the same death scene over and over, right? I'm trying to be creative!

**Roguechere**: Closure? Yeah…I guess it did. At least Mara knew the truth.

**Kransp**: That's right. Keep reminding yourself that and you'll be ok.

**Nikki**: Not quite at the present, yet. After this Part.

**SmutAngel**: Sorry! It's a fresh start!

**Pastyglue**: Not yet, that's for sure. Don't worry, the last Part (chps 25-30) should be much happier.


	20. Summers

I apologize for the long silence. I was in AmeriCorps and didn't have much access to the Internet. However, I'm out of the program now and home for the summer. So, I'm going to try and finish this. Thank you for the continued support.

CHAPTER TWENTY

She gently stroked his taut, fever raged face. Even in sleep he appeared distressed. She wondered if he was dreaming. Was he home? Was he back on the battlefield? What kind of images were playing in his mind? He hadn't woken yet from surgery, which took place just over twelve hours ago. Whenever a doctor or seasoned nurse walked by, they simply shook their heads grimly, muttering under their breaths. No one believed he would make it. Even Mary, though desperate for hope, feared his impending death.

"James," she whispered, patting his flushed face with a wet cloth. "James Howlett."

She needed to remember his name. She needed to remember the first soldier she'd ever attended. If she could do this – keep it all personal – then maybe her efforts in the war wouldn't be futile. If she could carry the memories of the fallen men then maybe their deaths wouldn't have been in vain.

Yes, I know you, James Howlett, died for me. You took the bullet so that the generations to come won't have to. You were killed in the cause for peace. Equality. Freedom.

Mary swallowed, closing her eyes against the pain. There was so much suffering. How much could humanity take before buckling, crumbling into the sea of annihilation? Would the world murder each other into extinction?

She gasped when he moaned faintly. She quickly leaned in closer, placing her other hand upon his upper arm. "James," she murmured. "James, it's all right."

He groaned, deep and low, but full of anguish.

Mary caressed his cheek with the back of her hand, her fingers clutching the damp rag. "My name's Mary. I'm a nurse. You're in a hospital. Everything is going to be ok."

His eyes fluttered half open, unfocused and crazed.

"Shhh," she soothed. "It's ok, James. Relax. You're in a hospital."

He made a gurgling sound in the back of his throat. His coloring paled to a dusky hue. Still in a haze, he began to shiver, his body slipping into shock.

Mary immediately cried out for a doctor as she struggled with rolling him onto his side. In case he threw up, she didn't want him choking to death on his vomit.

A man with a limp leg crawled off his cot and hobbled over. "It'll pull out his stitches," he said calmly as he hastily helped Mary roll James over. "Get bandages and antibiotics. Quick."

Mary dashed off to the medicine cabinet and yanked out supplies. She hurried back to the soldier's side and together they did a temporary patch up job on James's wound.

"Thank you," she told the stranger.

He was tall, dark-haired, blue eyed, and young. "Doctors are scarce around here," he answered.

"I'm Mary."

"I'm Summers."

"Summers?"

He chuckled. "Sorry. Daniel Scott Summers."

Mary smiled, brushing back her hair. "Rank?"

"Lieutenant."

The man on the bed hissed, bringing Mary's attention back to him. His shock seemed to have passed and she eased him onto his back. Within moments, he was out cold. Mary sighed, peering back up at Summers. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

"It's the least I could do."

Mary glanced down at his cast. "What happened?"

"Grenade. Damn near blew the sucker off."

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault." He tried stifling a yawn. "I'm sorry, but I need to lie down."

"No, no," Mary exclaimed. "You go ahead. Let me help you back to bed."

He kindly waved her off. "No, I've got it. You keep watch over him." Summers nodded toward James. "He needs a woman like you to take care of him."

Mary watched as the Lieutenant staggered back down the aisle to his cot and then turned to gaze down at the sleeping soldier. "I will," she whispered.

END CHAPTER TWENTY

THANKS: Thank you all so much. Sorry for not writing to each of you personally, but there were just so many reviews that accumulated over the last 8-9 months that I've been away. However, I appreciated each and every one of them. Thank you.


	21. Who I Am

I apologize for the delay. My internet is all screwy. I never know when the hunk-of-junk will actually work. And working full-time really cuts into my time. Stupid job.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

She wheeled his wheelchair down the slope into the fresh afternoon, ignoring his grumbling protests. To the amazement of the doctors, the Lieutenant was healing rapidly and efficiently. Just weeks after his near-death, James was already regaining his mobility…and a sarcastic mouth known to all the nurses. There had been more than one occasion when he'd cussed out like a drunken sailor. Mary, herself, had been a victim to many of his outbursts. Yet, gradually, he'd mellowed down to a cranky old man, rude and bitingly blunt, but quiet.

A few less-than-critically-wounded soldiers sitting around the hospice's dying yard, whistled as the nurse and patient went by. It was common knowledge among the staff and soldiers that Mary spent more than the professionally required time with the bitter Lieutenant. It didn't bother her. _Let them think what they want_, she mused. _I know I don't love him. And he certainly doesn't have a tender spot for me_. She chuckled at the very notion of James pining away for her. It was absurd!

"Why don't you go bother them," James mumbled. "They want your attention."

"It's because they want my attention. You don't."

"That doesn't make any fu-"

"Ah-ah," Mary scolded. "I don't care what you say or how you say it, but I won't tolerate that word. Remember?"

He gritted his teeth, recalling the days when his nurse made sure all he had to eat were rice cakes until he stopped using the word in her presence. He didn't put it passed her to do it again.

"Look, girl, I don't need you pestering me every fu-freaking day."

"Someone needs to. And I'm the only one willing to do it."

Mary stopped in front of a stone bench. He angrily brushed her hands away when she tried helping him out of his chair. Sighing, Mary watched as he shakily rose to his feet. "You're going to fall again," she said simply, waiting for the inevitable. They went through this dance routine every afternoon.

He just glowered at her. Concentrating, he took one baby step forward. Then another. Then…

"Oh my God," Mary exclaimed. "You're…you're walking without a cane!"

James glared at her smugly. "Told you to leave me the fu-freak alone." He wobbled around the bench a couple laps before succumbing to his exhaustion and sitting down beside her. "It's time for me to go back."

Mary snorted. "You say that everyday."

"Yes, but now I'm walking."

"Barely," she scoffed.

Mary bit her lower lip, pondering the man beside her. More sincerely, she added, "Lieutenant, you could even go home if you wanted to."

"Why make it your damn business?"

"I care."

"Don't," he snapped. "You're just a stupid, crazy girl who doesn't know shit about the real world. You think that by joining the Red Cross you've got it all figured out? You'll never understand life until you've experienced death."

"I've seen death, Lieutenant! I work around the dying!"

"Tough shit, Mary! I'm not talking about idly standing by watching the wounded die. But real death. You haven't been there. I have! And damn it all, I want to get back to it!"

"Why," she pleaded, desperate to understand.

"It's where I belong, Mary!" He yanked his dog tags from underneath his brown T-shirt. "This is who I am!"

Mary gingerly reached up, gently wrapping her delicate fingers around his clutched hand. "But there's more to you than this."

He yanked away from her. "You're wrong," he growled venomously. "You have no idea just how wrong you are."

END CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

**Tigerfanfry****, Nikki Greenleaf, Devonshirelass, Rebel Goddess, Blix Howlett, kransp, Trunksblue, Gene Kelly, Kitty1223, Mechelle-VanPatten, shelaweena, RoganLuvr, SueBe, The-Princess-06, Keety-Rhea, wakingbear, blravenclaw101, Doyle'sangel, keikichan3, lcm, elvenangel, Beautiful Enigma, brlousee, RosieB, Terri16, Joralie**: Thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews. I also ask for your further patience. The days just aren't long enough. This will take me more time than I'd originally planned. Sorry. I will, however, try to make the next chapter longer. No promises, though.


	22. Meet Me

Wow. Nearly two years have passed. Time slipped away from me. Yet, I made a promise long ago to finish my stories, and I will – no matter how long it takes – stick to my word. With much apologizes, here is the extremely long-awaited next installment (that is, if anyone is still reading this):

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

James had been sequestered in the hospital for six grueling weeks. He even made a few daring escape attempts, but was always apprehended by the only one who didn't want him to disappear into the night. If James were truly honest with himself, he would admit that his plans were purposefully flawed. He wanted, secretly, to be caught, caged in with the beautiful nurse who showed him more kindness than warranted. He was spiteful towards her. Cursed at her. Preyed upon her vulnerabilities. Yet, she was unwavering. And he was falling in love.

The gruff man sat silently on the frayed bench, splinters snagging at his thin hospital pants. Autumn leaves escaping their branches floated down around him. One brushed his cheek and he closed his eyes. What was he doing? A war was tearing the world apart and he thirsted to return to the frontlines. His warrior instincts were always straining to hear the sound of battle. Yet, here he sat. And for only one reason: He knew that the day he left would be the last he ever saw Mary, and that was a day he didn't want to feel.

He sensed her approaching, could smell the sweetness of her skin. He waited until she was standing in front of him before opening his eyes. He glared up at her, ready for a snide rebuttal to whatever it is she had to say, but the glower washed away at the sight of her sorrowful eyes. He could taste the sadness that seeped through her gaze.

"What's wrong, Mary?"

His voice – for the first time – was soft and purely kind. It made it all that much harder. Mary nibbled on her lower lip, fighting back the tears. She had no reason to mourn. This was supposed to be a happy day. A day James had eagerly been waiting for. Not knowing what to say, she blurted, "You're going back."

It hit him like a brick, but he made no hint of it. Instead, he simply leaned back. "About damned time."

Mary nodded dumbly, peering over the lawn at nothing in particular.

They sat in silence, neither saying what desperately wanted to be said.

Moments passed before Mary shifted her weight. "The doctors all say you should have died out there. Instant death. Shouldn't have even felt the blast." She glanced over at his stomach, no longer bandaged with anything more than a couple layers of gauze. "Said you healed fast, too. Very fast."

"I eat a lot of oranges."

"Funny. But no about of Vitamin C could have saved you from having your organs blown out." She brushed a strand of auburn hair behind her ear more out of habit than necessity. "You were given a second chance, James. A chance few men out there are getting. Don't you want something more out of life than death?"

What did he want out of life? He had enlisted when he was sixteen, forging his age in order to get in. Military was all he knew. It _was_ his life. Was he even capable of doing anything else? Did he really only seek his death?

James studied the woman before him, finding his answer. "Yes," he whispered. Yes, he did want other things.

Mary took a long, quivering breath, nervously picking at the buttons of his shirt with her eyes. "Do … do you want … me?"

"I'm going back, Mary. I belong out there, fighting. It's who I am."

"Though it feels like it sometimes, the war can't possibly last forever," she pointed out. "What about then? Will you want me then?"

James sighed, peering out into the nothingness that had captured her attention earlier. "There will always be a war. This one will end. Another will take its place."

"And if one doesn't?"

He whipped his head over, their noses inches apart. "What do you want me to say," he snapped bitterly.

"Nothing, I guess," she retorted, hurt and angry. She jumped to her feet. "Goodbye, Lieutenant," she huffed, whirling around.

Her grabbed her wrist, twirling her around. Her knees banged into the seat. "You're a pest!"

"And you're a beast! Now get your claws off of me!" She tried twisting herself free, but his grip was like iron.

"What _is_ it, Mary," he seethed. "You want me to cite you poetry? You want me to be sensitive and gentle and refined? It's not going to happen, Mary."

"No," she demanded forcefully.

"Then _what_?"

"I just want to hear you say how you feel. And you did."

"Yes, I did. I am a soldier. And there are wars to fight. That's how it is, Mary, but that's not the end of it." He took a deep breath. It was now or never. "I love you. But it can't happen now."

Mary's eyes filled with tears. The tension in her body melted away. "I love you."

"If I get a "Dear John" letter from you, I'll be pissed," he stated firmly, a slight hint of a tease slipping through the harshness of his tone.

Mary smiled. "Then this better be your last war. A girl can't hold off for more than one World War."

"The day after the war ends, I want you to meet me here."

"I promise."

END CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO


	23. War's End

Author's Note: In the past year I returned to college, got engaged, and am currently 5 months pregnant. Things happen too fast to keep up. I apologize. Yet, I will not give up until this story is finished! Thank you all for the wonderful, kind, encouraging reviews. If it were not for your continued dedication, this story would have met the garbage can long ago. Thank you for forcing me to keep going!

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: War's End

"They surrendered! They surrendered!"

James slapped his hand over his comrade's mouth, shoving him back into his seat. "Hush," he scolded, his hard gaze intently focused on the radio as the announcer read off the news report. Finally, after the second atomic bomb, Emperor Hirohito admitted defeat. Japan had finally followed Germany's lead of surrender. James knew that there were still months of skirmishes ahead. The Japanese were a feisty, stubborn bunch and not all of them would immediately lay down their weapons. Yet, to James, this sticky August day marked the beginning of his new life.

He rose from the wooden bench and marched out of the mess hall, ripping off his dog tags and shoving them deep into his pockets. He knew he was being foolish. He had made his promise to a young, bright eyed girl two years ago. For all he knew, she could have gotten married and had babies by now, sitting safely at home back in America. Yet, he was determined to return to the military hospital. If there was even a spit's chance in Hell that she would be there, he had to know.

Going AWOL was a stupid move. However, James was sure no one was going to waste their time tracking down one lonely soldier. The world was in celebration. Who truly cared if a few soldiers slipped away? He had paid a British air pilot to fly him most of the way. Then, he commandeered a Jeep for the remaining journey. It would be impossible to make it to the hospital within the first twenty-four hours. Yet, he knew that if Mary was going to be there, she would wait. He just didn't know for how long.

X x x x

Three days after the Japanese surrender, James pulled the Jeep into the hospital compound. It had obviously seen some action. A portion of the rare building apparently had been blown away by a missile. The yard where Mary and he had spent so many days was nothing but dirt and patches of dead grass. Yet, the hospital was still in partial operation. A few uniformed men were scattered about outside, smoking cigarettes and carrying their weapons securely as if itching to kill something.

Still dressed in his BDUs (Battle Dress Uniform), James emerged from the Jeep. Glancing briefly around, assessing the area more thoroughly, he strode into the hospital. He checked around, stopping to question a number of the wounded soldiers. Surely if Mary were here, one of them would have seen her. To James's growing frustration, they all shook their heads no.

He snatched a surgeon's arm as he bustled by. "I'm looking for a woman," he barked.

The surgeon peered down at James's clutched hand, clearly displeased with being touched. When James released him, the doctor replied, "Aren't we all?"

"Her name is Mary. Young. Auburn hair. Pretty. Was a nurse here two years ago. May still be here."

The older man sighed, pursing his lips in thought. He finally came to a decision. "Who are you?"

"None of your damn business. Is she here?"

"Can't help you." The doctor turned away.

"James. I was patient here."

The doctor stopped, sighed again. He slowly turned back around to face him. "I have to admit that I am surprised you are here."

James felt a rush of relief, followed by nervous suspicion. "Is she here?"

"Wait here."

James watched the doctor stroll a way, his first instinct to follow the man, but James held his ground. Finally, after two years, he was going to see her again.

It was then he realized he didn't know what to say. Or what to do.

When the surgeon returned, James was dismayed to not see the beautiful young woman he left behind, but a man trailing behind the surgeon. A man in a General's uniform and a stern expression.

James glowered at the General. "Who the hell are you?"

"James 'Wolverine' Howlett," the General stated matter-of-factly.

"What of it?"

"You are an interesting man, Wolverine. An interesting man who I would like to offer a proposition. You have a gift. A gift of healing. We could put it to good use. It's called Weapon X."

"Screw you," James snared. "You are wasting my time."

"On the contrary. You are wasting yours."

James glared at the doctor. "Is she or is she not here?"

The doctor glanced at the General then shook his head. "No. She was. But she was evacuated during the bombing. She was sent to Hathum."

James marched away, behind him the General called out, "You will be back, Wolverine."

End Chapter


	24. Descend into Darkness

Author's Note: This was last updated 2.5 years ago. Wow. Where does the time go? In those two years, I have had two babies, graduated college, got a co-teaching position, and am now back in school. My children are 25 months and 11 months.

THANK YOU ALL SOOOO MUCH FOR YOUR CONTINUED SUPPORT! I haven't even logged onto my account in over 2 years. I was shocked to return to find that people still cared about these stories. I am truly moved. For you, I – once again – swear I WILL finish this story even if it takes me another two years! (Though, hopefully, it won't!)

Without Further Ado …

Chapter 24: Descend into Darkness

James hunted for days. The days turned into weeks. He was feverish with the pursuit, blinded by everything accept finding Mary. He didn't know why she hadn't shown up at the hospital, but he was determined to know whether it was due to her loving another man, or if she had somehow been prevented. If she was married off, he was resolved to leaving her alone, slipping away before she even knew he was there.

From Hathum, he had been sent to London. London landed him on a plane to New York. When he unearthed her next destination, he had bolted out of the city to South Carolina. In Charleston, South Carolina, he learned of her parents. It was, now in the present, where he was driving. His nerves were threatening to shatter on him. He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned ghostly white.

He was so close.

James pulled up to 1313 Oasis Drive and stared at the large, blue Victorian porch. The white shutters, white picket fence, and freshly manicured lawn were so innocent. James closed his eyes, sighed deeply, and curled his fingers around the shift stick. James had a tension rise into his chest at disturbing the purity of the place. He was a man with a darkness about him that would destroy the beauty of Mary's childhood home. He began to doubt his decision to come here. Why had he been so stubborn? If Mary had wanted him, she would have found a way to contact him. She had made her choice. And it wasn't him.

"Are you lost, soldier," a voice softly inquired.

James's eyes flew open and he whipped his head around to see who was standing on the sidewalk beside his car. "No," he nearly gasped. "Yes. I mean …"

Lips pursed together tightly. "Well, which is it?"

James took a solid breath. "I'm not sure yet. Does Mary live here?"

The man's face crumbled, and he eyed James a long moment before shaking his head. "No," he spoke quietly. "How do you know Mary?"

"I was a patient of hers. Do you know where I can find her?"

The tall, lanky man again filled with silence before biting his lip and scratching his left cheek. "I'm sorry, son, but I do. She is at the South Hills Cemetery. Mary," his voice cracked. "Mary was killed. The day Japan surrendered Mary bought a ticket to Europe. Her plane was shot down by some Japanese who hadn't gotten word of the surrender. Or so the lying bastards say."

James, his teeth clenched, glared hard at the white picket fence. He had to see for himself. "Where's the cemetery?"

PART TWO

"You knew, didn't you," James accused.

"I knew you would be back," the General said as flatly as he could muster, but a hint of smugness played through his words.

"What's the Weapon X?" James had grown cold the moment his eyes had fallen on Mary's tombstone. He wanted to feel nothing. He wanted to be back in war. He wanted to kill. He wanted Weapon X to be full of bled … to be his escape.

The General smiled wickedly.

END CHAPTER 24

END WWII SECTION

Onto the Present …


	25. PRESENT

**PRESENT**

Chapter 25: Journey's Start

Logan rolled his cigar in his mouth; he flicked the end with his tongue, and then rolled it around again. His eyes squinting into slivers, he glowered across the precisely sculptured bushes. He could feel a pair of sapphire eyes burning anxiously into his face. He sighed a deep growl, darting his hazel orbs into her direction. "What," he grumbled.

She tilted her head to the side, wrapped her arms into a defiant fold, and shook her head. "Just light it, already."

Logan lowered the cigar, twiddled it between his thumb and middle finger, and contemplated her proposal. Yes, he wanted to actually smoke the damn thing. He was nearly on the verge of establishing a twitch over his desire. It had been five days since his last cigar. He wanted it. Badly. Yet, instead, he tucked it away into the inside pocket of his leather jacket. Ever since he caught Rogue smoking cigarettes, he had vowed to himself not to indulge in his own poisonous habit – at least not when she was around. And lately, she was always around.

Rogue released a gust of air, her lips vibrating in exaggeration, and she rolled her eyes, but said nothing. She knew he was being stubborn, but she thought it a ridiculous show of over-protection, especially considering she had only gone through a brief smoking phase after absorbing a mutant's powers who puffed like a chimney. Apparently, though, her confession that she enjoyed it had pushed Logan into his "father" role.

They stood in silence for awhile before Rogue grew weary of it, and finally decided to approach the conversation she wanted to have with him. "You're leaving."

Logan lowered his eyes to meet hers. "Just for awhile."

Rogue nodded stiffly, accepting the truth. Logan would never rest until he knew who he was. He had unearthed many secrets about the Weapon X program, but still had not discovered his birth identity. It was important to him. Thus, it was important to her. "I'm going," she stated firmly.

Logan shook his head. "Oh, no, kid. You need to stay here. I can't have …"

"I'm going," she intervened. "I'm not the girl you found stowed away in your trailer."

Logan grinned slightly at the memory of their first encounter. His instincts were to toss her to the curb, which he had initially done. Yet, he hadn't gotten more than a couple yards before something deep down stirred inside him and he had pressed down on his brakes. From the very beginning, there was some invisible pull on him. He had immediately grown protective of the young girl. She was, also, the only one he let his guard down with, allowing her to see the more gentle side.

"I know, kid. But you still can't go."

"Why not? I can help you."

"No."

"Oh, stop playing the lone wolf!" Rogue's blue eyes began to darken into emeralds as her mood shifted. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not a kid anymore. And I have more powers. But even if we don't run into trouble, I can still be useful as a friend. Someone to just … just … _be there_ with."

Logan had to admit that her powers had become increasingly beneficial. It had been discovered during a mission that if Rogue fully drained another mutant to their death, she obtained their powers not only momentarily like she always did, but permanently. The mutant she had killed with her flesh was a woman with the ability to fly, and who possessed incredible strength. Yet, there had been a negative side, too. Rogue now, also, had the other woman's essence stuck inside her mind. For the first few weeks, Rogue had been mentally tormented. It had taken grueling mind exercises with the professor in order for Rogue to establish some relevance of peace.

The experience had, also, changed Rogue. She was more outspoken, less afraid, had moments of extreme anger, was prone to mood swings, and had blossomed into a woman. Once in a while, Logan would catch himself staring at her as she moved around a room, entranced by her solid presence and the waves of emotions that fell off her. At times, she seemed ancient and beautifully mystical. Preserved for all time. In those moments, Logan felt a twinge of … something … stir inside him as a shadow of a forgotten dream would tingle over him.

In that second, he knew he would miss her. He did want her to come with him. He slowly nodded, then turned to head back inside. That was all Rogue needed. She followed him off the patio.

Within an hour they found each other in the expansive garage that housed multiple vehicles. Logan had glanced wistfully at Scott's motorcycle a few times, but knew they couldn't make such a trip with it. He briefly considered a sporty car, but settled with a four-door sedan. He knew Rogue would appreciate having the extra space.

They loaded the truck up with their few bags without a word then climbed into the front seats.

They remained in comfortable silence for the first four hours before Rogue's stomach gurgled and she peered up at him eagerly.

Logan felt annoyance. _If she weren't here, then I could just push through. Do my thing. My way._ Then he glanced her way and he instantly softened. Rogue had that affect on him.

At the next exit, Logan pulled off in search of a local diner.

End Chapter 25


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